And the Little One said Roll Over
by 00Tyler00
Summary: Five years after the events of Swan Song, the Winchester's efforts to lead relatively normal lives are once again squelched by a herald of doom - and this time, it's wearing bootcuts.
1. Chapter 1

_For Icebox, who encouraged me time and time again to pursue a creative bent in the fabulous world of Supernatural._

_Also, for the countless slew of Nate Winters' out there in the world. May we find the closure that we seek through less extraordinary means._

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* * *

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_Denver, Colorado. November 2020._

Rain drizzled and thunder clapped boisterously through the scorched and angry sky that hung over the city of Denver. The streets were empty of all save the homeless and the junkies looking to pump their next big hit.

A grisly, bearded man in a torn and faded tux sat on the corner of an abandoned church building that had been torn to shreds by a blast of some kind years before. The former chaplain stared vacantly into the distance, pupils dilated, then blinked ignorantly at the dusty, leather-bound book in his thin, pale hands.

A sudden shadow stole what little warmth his threadbare overcoat was affording him, and the man glanced up through glassy eyes at the figure standing over him. Another blink, heavy and slow-lidded, and the man let out a slight rasping cough.

"Hello, Padre." The voice was young and unmistakably female, though possessing a very faint, almost undetectable rasp. "Nice book you got there."

The man's gaze remained fixed upon the object clutched in his hands, but his lips began to move in whispered mutterings.

"Sorry, Padre. Exorcism ain't gonna work on a lil' home grown human." A hand reached down and snatched the book from the Father's hands, replacing it with a pile of blankets and a bag of food, "However sinful she might be. Here," A pocketbook followed the generous (and scarce) donation of the blanket and food, "Get your act together. Oh don't worry," The voice added as the father finally snapped out of his drug-induced stupor long enough to stare dumbfounded at the amount of money in his hands, "the book's worth _far_ more then what I gave you…in my hands, not in yours."

A pair of legs clad in dark denims and feet shod in sturdy-looking ankle boots stepped purposefully over the father's outstretched legs as the female strode away, the marred and bullet-ridden wall behind her sporting a single word scrawled into the cement…

_Croatoan_.

SUPERNATURAL

_"And The Little One Said Roll Over"_

_Denver, Colorado. November 2015._

The tolling of the bell in the same church- very much intact and swelling with people, in fact - echoed dismally through the street down which the sleek Chevy Impala cruised to a halt.

Dean pulled the handbrake and squinted at the church from under his rearview mirror. "So why are we here again?"

Sam threw him a somewhat amused warning glance as he yanked open the passenger door, "Dean, we've been over this a hundred times. You want a blueprint?"

"No, I just wanna hear one good reason besides 'it's Sunday' for this total waste o' time." The older brother retorted snippily, slamming his door with a little too much gusto for his usual temperament and digging his hands into the warmth of his jacket, "Hey," Dean raised his eyebrows in response to Sam's huff, "You're the one who decided to drag me all the way to some deadbeat, Episcopalian…"

"They're _Apocalyptians _- it's some fast-growing new movement." Sam corrected haughtily, his hazel eyes now focused entirely on the church building as they headed inside.

"A little behind on the times, if you ask me." Dean grumbled. Truth be told, though, he was overjoyed at the opportunity to hunt with Sammy after years of domestic bliss (not so much). The security he had established in his life with Lisa and Ben had its merits - especially during the critical two and half years during which Dean had suffered under the impression that Sammy was still in the hole.

When his not-so-little brother had finally shown up at his doorstep, bloodied and nearly beaten to death from a hunt gone sideways, Dean hadn't known which of the myriad of reactions churning inside his gut to allow for. Complete shock. Ecstatic relief. Deep perplexment. And of course, once he'd realized that Sam had been alive all along and simply unwilling to ruin what he deemed to be Dean's 'apple pie life' with his presence…

There'd been wrath. Righteous anger, as Dean had called it.

But now the two were hunting again. Sam had been against it - stubborn as ever, of course. But Lisa had, oddly enough, chosen to back Dean in his earnest stance that Sam either hunt with his brother or refrain from hunting altogether. She'd remembered the gentle, brooding-faced giant of a man, and somehow the peaceful sombreness that emanated from Sam seemed to kindle Lisa's maternal instinct.

So here they were - back on the hunt once again. Sam had budged only as far as allowing Dean to accompany him when the situation was hairy enough. A couple of demons or the odd Wendigo didn't qualify.

But this hunt was a favour to Bobby. And the older hunter seemed to think it was pretty darn important.

Dean forced a nod at the stone-faced pastor standing at the door and received 'the evil eye' in response, "They're creepin' me out. Not even _Hell_ was this unwelcoming."

"I'll bet." Sam didn't feel it necessary to comment on the irony of the statement, "Anyway, Bobby said their own personal Bible's more like Lucifer's own personal itinary of evil spells. One of the priests is sitting on it somewhere in this church." The broad-shouldered man ducked under a drooping arch that seemed specifically designed to catch those over six foot two square in the kisser.

"Yeah I get the memo. Go in, grab the big, bad book and bail. Ugh," Dean blinked away wide eyes of horror as one of the milk-white, sunken-faced old ladies in a pew to his right bared toothless gums at him, "I am _lovin'_ that last part."

"Look just…" Sam turned on his brother as the lady hissed in response, flashing her a tight nod of apology before raising stern yet pleading eyes on Dean, "try to concentrate on finding out who has the book, alright? I'll take of care of everything else."

"Are you…" Dean lowered his voice at a brief flash of the whites of Sam's eyes at the noise level, "Are you kidding? What the hell else is there to do besides sniffin' out Satan's dear diary?"

"Keeping people off your back." Sam smiled humourlessly at the floor as he spoke, "Unless of course, _you_ wanna draw the short straw."

Dean smoothed his ruffled feathers as Sam glanced back up at him, eyebrows raised triumphantly, and the older Winchester sighed with an air of resigned martyrdom.

"Fine. Meet me outside the door in ten - just keep Nanny McFreaky off my tail. Oh, and…" He removed one hand from the safety of its pocket to poke a finger at his not-so-little brother, "Don't take candy from strangers."

Sam rolled his eyes and waved Dean off before turning to scan his own playing field for potential dangers.

The toothless lady glared at Sam with a ferocity that led him to believe she was somehow vocally impaired, as the quivering of her lip and the snarl in her eyes was clearly the result of having seen Dean slip through a wooden doorway marked 'Authorized Personnel Only'.

Sam tried to squelch the grimace overtaking his features and turned his attention elsewhere.

Winchesters were _always_ authorized personnel.

* * *

"Hello?" Dean poked his head around a bend and, upon seeing the hall dead as a doorknob, stalked cautiously through the corridor, his boots thudding with the rhythmic lit of his bow-legged walk. His green eyes peered curiously under a stairwell to find an old broom closet with peeling paint on its door, and he raised his eyebrows as he took in the rest of the hall.

"Anybody in?" Dean heard his gravely voice bouncing sharply off the walls and winced at the eerie silence that followed, "I guess not."

Suddenly the sound of a second set of boots - ones that clicked sharply and far too quickly - had Dean ducking behind a pillar. He pressed his back to the stone and inched his head out slightly to catch sight of a bearded, black-suited man disappearing through the only other door in the hall.

One quick manoeuvre later and Dean was traipsing confidently on the man's heels, walking through the doorway (which he now noticed had lettering for 'Bathrooms' on its flank).

Sure enough, a chaste-looking porcelain sink and a lone toilet stall did little to distract from the (Dean assumed) official of the church as he sniffed a long line of white powder from the counter. Dark brown eyes, beady and bloodshot, snapped up at Dean as he stood in a moment of surprise.

"Whoa." Dean flashed his million-dollar smile (the one that said 'I'm a friendly dude', not 'I want into your pants') as he held up his hands, "Just…lookin' for the John."

"You're not a member of staff." The man informed him coldly, one hand falling inside the large sleeve of his robes, "Or the congregation."

It sounded more like a command then a statement. Dean quirked his eyebrows.

"No, but my uh…._cousin_…works the janitor shift and…shit!" The hunter found himself crushed a good few feet off the ground against the wall as the chaplain held up his palm with narrow, angry eyes.

"You're a _Winchester_." He snarled and then spat on the ground, "I should send you right to Hell." The hand inside his robe sleeve whipped out a brown, leather-bound book which Dean determined to be his quarry.

"Been there," He gasped out with a smile even through the pain of his crushed windpipe, and the chaplain followed Dean's line of satisfied sight just in time to catch the butt of Sam's handgun straight to his temple.

Dean was unceremoniously dropped to the floor but managed to land on unsteady feet, choking down air in great gulps as he glared at the man's unconscious body and bent down, snatching the book from his hands.

"Done that." He caught his breath fully before waving the book at his brother, "This it?"

Sam nodded and Dean shoved it inside the fold of his jacket, "Good. Let's get outta here before this douchebag comes to and brings the whole toothless army on our heels."

Sam complied and headed down the hall after the older hunter, stopping only to cast a deadpan glare and stave off a retort as Dean grumbled something to the effect of 'What took you so long?'

Brothers.

* * *

Bobby looked turgidly at the large, heavy book as Dean tossed it down with a slap onto his desk.

"There. And I had to let Sammy get fingered by Grandmother Wolf for that, so I hope you're satisfied."

"Dean…" Sam stammered briefly in frustration before clamping his jaw shut with a huff of annoyed silence.

"It's okay, Sammy - nothin' to be ashamed of." Dean assured him with a dismissive smile before he wrinkled his eyebrows at Bobby's perusal of the book, "So? What's so damn important about this old thing anyhow, huh?"

"_This old thing_ ain't as harmless as it looks." Bobby ascertained as he leafed through the tea-colored pages, "It was written by Egyptian priests back when the Pyramids were the new hot thing. These are ancient hieroglyphics if my sources are anything to go by." He raised his eyes at Dean as the hunter leaned over to sneak a peek before smirking.

"Hey Sammy check it out - this one totally looks like some dude is getting head…" Dean paused at the vicious glare on Bobby's face and promptly cleared his throat, "So what's it say?"

"Oh I got no clue _what's_ in there." Bobby admitted, "Just thought it might be best if anyone was gonna have the damn thing, may as well be the good guys."

"Any word from Cas?" Sam spoke up at last as Dean handed him one of the three beers he had pilfered from Bobby's fridge, and his older brother frowned at the cap he was twisting off.

"Ah he sends a postcard every now and then. Damn near scared Ben to death when his ugly mug started flickering on the TV screen."

"Any chance he's managed to locate Adam?" Sam spoke the name of their little brother with a very slight croak., "I'm pretty sure he got Michael yanked outta his meat same way Lucifer got torn outta mine."

"I dunno. Maybe." Was all Dean had to say about it, but there was a stiffness to the otherwise noncommittal words. Sam understood all too well. For the first time ever, he was sharing the title of Big Brother along with Dean…and wasn't sure at all that he liked it. It took familial responsibility to a whole new level that Sam just wasn't sure if he was ready for right then.

"In the meantime," Bobby broke the broody silence that had overtaken both Winchesters at the mention of their baby brother, "I think we'd best torch this evil thing before it gets into the wrong hands."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute." Dean countered the proposal as he edged closer to the desk, beer still in hand, "I mean we still don't know what's in there. Might be somethin' we could use."

Bobby's brow arched towards the baseball cap atop his head as he glared at Dean, "You read Hieroglyphics, kid? Cause the last thing I got time for right now is another dead-end translation job."

Dean caught an eye-roll midway and pursed his lips as Bobby continued.

"You boys have any idea how dangerous this book is? This is first-rate black magic in here, the dark arts all rolled into one sweet package o' death and damnation. We're probably already cursed for life just from _touchin'_ it."

"All the same, Bobby, I think Dean's got a point…" Sam began, but a sudden booming sound filled the air and sent all three men flying until they made contact with whatever object managed to break their violent falls. The room went pitch black, and menacing howls whispered in circles in the air for a moment as Dean, who was the least injured of the three, attempted to pull himself to his feet.

As suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The dull, grey sky appeared through the windows once more and lit up the damage done. Bobby had been thrown against the wall behind him. Sam had managed to collide with the fireplace grate and had a trickle of dark blood down the side of his face. Dean clutched his left shoulder, which had had a brutal union with the bookshelf and taken the whole thing down with it, as he staggered to his feet.

"Sam? Bobby?" He coughed at a foul pong in the air - the reeking stench of sulphur - and limped over to his younger brother as Sam came to, "You okay?"

"What the hell was that?" Sam ground out in disorientation, taking Dean's outstretched hand and pulling himself into a standing position.

"I dunno, but I'm guessing it wasn't Doc and Marty comin' back from the future." Dean muttered as the two ran to Bobby and eased him to his feet as the older man checked himself for injuries.

"Nope - but you're not far off there, Dean."

The voice was unfamiliar and caused both brothers to start and turn around.

The girl was young - late teens, maybe, although the weight in her grey-blue eyes spoke of more years then her face. Dirty-blonde hair flowing in razored layers down her shoulders, full, pale lips and a soft jawline - the almost picturesque innocence of her features defied the dark denim bootcuts, faded grey sweater and cliché leather jacket she was sporting.

"Sorry about the bookshelf." The girl grimaced at the mess as she stepped over it with what looked like sturdy hiking boots - and all the grace of an African elephant, "Should've asked about the landing strip before I booked the ticket, but I guess it's not my strong point."

"What the hell are you?" Dean queried sharply, his stance matching Sam in its thick rigidity, every muscle in his body coiled to strike.

"Human." The girl informed him reassuringly as she held up her hands in a gesture of surrender before rolling her eyes, "Okay, and bulimic, but that's just what the jealous people are saying."

"So what, sulfur's just your aftershave?" Dean's eyes were narrow, dangerous, and somehow (Sam knew better then to mistake his brother's naturally-lethargic attitude for slow reflexes, but damn) he had drawn the demon-slaying knife which had been tucked into his belt without anybody really catching on.

"_Aftertaste_, actually. And it's not even mine." The girl sniffed a whiff of air and then cringed, wrinkling her pint-sized nose in protest, "Guess his exhaust needs a clean."

"Who? Who are you talking about?" Sam moved closer to Dean as the girl continued to advance slowly.

"The demon I rode through five years of real big screw-ups to try to warn you." She looked serious now, large eyes pinned on Dean - who exchanged a confused glance with his brother before the latter spoke up.

"Wait - are you saying you're from…"

"The future? Yep." The girl flashed a wan smile which faded as swiftly as it had entered, "Trust me, it ain't a pretty sight. You're lookin' at Resident Evil meets I am Legend ten years from now - and that's just Colorado."

"So who's the new bad guy in town?" Dean, who clearly wasn't buying the tale, scoffed, but Bobby and Sam appeared at least mildly curious.

"I don't know." The young girl stated, shifting her footing slightly as she tucked one hand into the pocket of her jeans, "But whoever he is, he's damn hard to find. Believe me, I would've ganked his past self a whole lot sooner if I'd been able to find him."

"Oh really? So what, you're just gallivanting through time and space with some continuum transfunctioner?" It was Sam's turn to be the voice of scepticism now as he raised his eyebrows, prompting the girl to roll her eyes with a surprising amount of hostility.

"Yeah - my DeLorean needs a tune-up. What's it to you how I get around?"

"What's it to you if I ask?" Sam replied in an almost snippy tone of voice which seemed to leave a sour taste in his mouth as he winced slightly after the unprecedented event.

"It's none of your business." The girl responded curtly before turning her focus to Dean once more, "Look, my name's Nate Waters. You can either Google me in five years time or you can drive to my home in Peak Mont and sneak a glance in my window, though right now I'll be a twelve year old with a snarky mouth so I wouldn't advise it."

"Yeah, send me to peek on kids why don't you." Dean shook his head and swivelled to look down at Bobby, "You guys buyin' what she's selling, or should I go for the Holy Water?"

"I'll save you the trip." Nate interjected matter-of-factly - as though she had already been expecting the challenge. She pulled a small flask from the pocket of her jacket and waved it beside her head with a raise of her eyebrows, "See the symbols? Enochian - holier then Pope John Paul, and a silver flask to boot."

"Why don't you just tie an anvil around your ankle and jump into the nearest lake while you're at it?" Bobby was less then impressed with the girls theatrics, and she pressed her lips together and titled her head at him with cold eyes.

"You know, I'm doing you a favour, Bobby. A little thanks would be in order, though I gotta say it's fair enough to not expect too much from you right now."

"Oh you can expect a whole lot from me, darlin'." The older hunter groused, and to her credit, Nate smiled almost…endearingly.

"Good to see someone's got these idiots' backs. I'll jump through whatever flaming hoops you got for me."

"Why don'tcha start with downing a swig o' that Holy Water?" Bobby leaned back on his heels expectantly, and Dean and Sam watched with caution in their eyes as Nate dipped her head obligingly and proceeded to swallow a gulp from the flask.

"Mm…" She cringed for a moment as she smacked at the aftertaste, "nasty stuff, even for a human. Maybe you hunters oughta think about spiking it with Jack Daniels or something when you force poor innocent people to _down a swig_."

"You mean you're not a hunter?" Sam queried, and Nate shot him a heavy-lidded expression of boredom at the insinuation.

"No, thankfully - though I know enough to get around. Everybody does though; I mean, it's Demonville back in 2020…or, forward or, whatever." She flinched to herself with a befuddled blink, and Sam shot Dean a tight-lipped, tight-jawed expression which demanded whether his brother was going to attempt Bad Cop at any time during the Sammy-imposed interrogation that had now commenced.

Dean, for his own part, narrowed his eyes sceptically (but not suspiciously) at Nate as he took a few steps forward, continuing to close the gap between them, "Alright, so…assuming you're not lying or insane…"

"Uh let's not make any assumptions regarding that last one." Nate cracked a grin and he continued, unamused.

"You're actually from the _future_." Dean stopped dead and raised his eyebrows at her, "You know, as in flying cars and plastic jumpsuits?"

Nate raised one eyebrow to match Dean's as she paused to rest a hand on the table beside her and twisted the tip of her boot against the floor with an almost sad expression, "Nothing so wonderfully eighties, I'm afraid."

"Well at least there _is_ one." Bobby piped up as he took a pace forward and looked over at Dean, "This is good news."

"Good news?" Nate raised her eyebrows with a slackened jaw, "You guys are in the eye of a freaking storm that never blows over. Stuff's about to get so much worse."

"Well aren't you just barrelful of optimism?" Dean crossed his arms as he leant against the edge of Bobby's desk, "How about you tell us why you rode some demon's coattails five years into the past?"

"In time." The girl responded before glancing around circumspectly, "Which is something I don't have much of. We got six months to sort things out before I blow a fuse, so let's get started if that's alright by everybody."

"It's not." The fluttering of papers scattering from Bobby's desk combined with the deep gravelly voice that spoke confirmed one thing: Castiel had finally decided to call.

"Where the hell have you been?" Dean was the first one to ride the angel's case, and Castiel cast him a deadpan glance.

"After extensive research on the subject, I've come to conclude that it is only appropriate for parental authorities or high-ranking employers to voice such a question in your particular tone of voice."

Sam stifled a snort of amusement while Dean merely raised his eyebrows in bewilderment as Cas continued.

"_You_ are neither." The angel turned to face Nate, who was looking as though she'd seen a ghost.

"Castiel." She breathed, eyes full of what appeared to be a flurry of conflicting emotions as he suddenly vanished and then reappeared behind her, whirling Nate around and placing two fingers on her forehead. She crumpled to the ground without a sound.

"Her very presence in this time frame is disrupting the universe." Castiel explained coldly as Sam and Dean flashed him questioning expressions, "A hole has been torn in the veil of time and space with very little precision."

"Wait, you mean like a portal?" Dean queried, and Castiel shook his head.

"More like a leak in a ship."

"What's leaking exactly?" Bobby demanded in a somewhat harsher tone, stepping forward to lock eyes with Castiel, and the angel swallowed before responding.

"Time."

Dean blinked and locked his jaw as the suddenly-ominous word sank into the air like rancid water into a sponge, absorbed into the atmosphere that was suddenly reeking of doom.

"Well that can't be good." The older Winchester finally managed, and Sam, lips pressed tightly together, paced a few steps to and fro before resting one hand on his head and the other on his hip.

"There's gotta be someway we can reverse it, you know - send her back to where she came from."

"Not alone." Castiel knelt down over Nate's unconscious body and lifted her wrist, pulling back the jacket and sweater sleeves to reveal a wicked-looking burn.

Bobby rolled closer, "What in the hell?"

"Hell is correct." Castiel muttered, glancing up at the man, "These hieroglyphics match the symbols in the book you acquired - let me see it."

Sam complied, snatching up the offending item and handing it to Castiel, who flipped through the pages with all the enthusiasm of a vegetarian choking down chicken.

Dean's eyebrows narrowed and he looked over at his brother, who shrugged in frustration as the minutes ticked by and the angel continued to engross himself in his research.

Finally he ran his fingers along a page of text before his face became even grimmer.

"Cas, what is it?" Dean asked cautiously, and Castiel looked up at the group of hunters.

"Did she state the purpose of her visit?"

"What, you mean like 'business or pleasure'?" Sam groused and flashed a challenging head cock at the warning glance Dean sent his way.

"Somethin' about wanting to stop whatever crap was comin' our way in six months." Said Bobby, "But other then that, she weren't too forthcoming."

"She is human, for a fact." Castiel examined Nate at a closer range, "We have to question her." His fingers moved towards her forehead when Dean intervened.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Cas, hold on for a second."

"Her mind is closed to me in its unconscious state, Dean." Castiel didn't spare a glance in his direction, but his fingers were frozen a centimetre from Nate's skin, "Once awakened, she will tell us everything regardless of desire or intention."

"Yeah well maybe, but honestly it didn't seem like her intentions were all that deadly." Dean protested, and Sam stepped in at this point, jaw clenched and brow set in stony determination.

"How are we meant to know that for sure, Dean? I mean all we've got to go on right now is her word for it, and how often has that worked out for us?"

Dean paused mid-retort and gave his brother a neutral once-over, determining the root of Sam's evident distrust and even malice towards Nate to be the experience he had undergone ala Ruby.

"Fine." Dean stabbed a finger at Castiel as he moved in once more, "But she's what, ninety pounds? And she hasn't made a move on us yet, so nobody muscle her around."

"Nothing of the sort will be necessary." Castiel assured him in a somewhat grouchy (well, the closest an ethereal being could come to grouchy) manner as he pressed two fingertips against Nate's forehead.

No sooner had he done so then she jerked violently awake, her head colliding with his own as she sat up before she fell back on the ground, clutching her temple and pulling into a less-then-graceful somersault just in time to avoid Castiel's sweeping hand.

"Okay, everybody just take it easy!" Dean raised a hand at the angel to prevent him from the forward dash he was about to make. Nate had drawn a long blade from the inside of her jacket and was clenching it tightly in a fist beside her ear. Closer inspection revealed it to be an angel-slaying weapon.

Dean tilted his head, "Where'd you get that?"

"The convenience store." Her eyes never Castiel as the angel straightened his coat and graced her with a hard expression, but it was clear the young woman was terrified instead of confident.

"Dean, wait a second." Sam stepped forward with a long breath, "Look at the handle. That's our knife."

At that Nate's head whipped up to look at Sam, and her eyes grew slightly wider as she stuffed the blade back inside an inner pocket of her jacket, "Finders keepers, Sam."

"Oh really?" He raised his eyebrows and reached behind him briefly, "Cuz in that case," A brief second later and an identical knife was being brandished in his large, firm grip, "I'd say we had it first."

Nate shrugged, "Well now there're two, so let's just call it even."

"So lemme get this straight." Bobby paused just a meter off from the girl, incredulity written across his features, "You came all the way back from the future to stop what exactly?"

"A Croatoan epidemic." Nate stated flatly as she gave the three men in the room a once-over before pinning a scowl on Sam's disparagingly tight-lipped visage, "What? You think just cuz Satan's back in the cage, he doesn't have folks outside on his payroll? Prison rules - he gets his phone call."

"Okay am I missing something here?" Dean squinted at the pair, "I mean you guys just met and already it's World War Three?"

"Pretty right on there, Dean." Nate acquiesced, and he maintained his frown.

"Right so what's the deal with the Hate Sammy club? What'd he screw your sister or something?"

"He screwed the _world_, Dean." She fairly spat the words in Sam's direction, prompting an instant pang of guilt to take centre stage on the hunter's face, "If you think opening the cage was a slick move, you're just gonna love the other tricks he's got up his sleeve."

"Enough with the cryptic insults already." Bobby placed a calming hand on Dean's arm as the younger hunter started forward angrily, "Either you tell us exactly why you're here, and I mean you get real specific, or you ain't getting nothin' from us, y'understand me?"

Sam face was tense and bordering on distressed. Clearly this girl had shaken him somehow, worried him sufficiently to have it flood his features. Dean's eyes were cold and angry, jaw clenched and face stony at the upset she'd caused his little brother. Castiel was, as always, unreadable, but his piercing blue eyes spoke of some deep suspicion that was beginning to dawn on the angel but that would remain safely tucked away until he was certain.

Nate sucked at her cheeks before nodding icily. "You aren't going to like this, but…fine." Her long eyelashes swept the hollows under her eyes before she sighed at the men.

"You remember Meg?"

"Name rings a bell." Sam said shortly, and Nate raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah? Well she's the new Hell Bitch in town. Somehow got an upgrade to Yellow Eye status. And she's got anger management issues." She rubbed at the back of her neck unconsciously, and Dean graced the gesture with a curious frown, "Anyway she's the one behind the virus, a hundred percent."

"Right and lemme guess; you're gonna stop her." Dean threw out the speculation, and Nate responded with a dismal grimace.

"No - you're gonna stop her, before _she_ stops _you_."


	2. Chapter 2

_Nice hits, all. But how about some feedback? Doesn't hurt the muse, you know ;). Just hit that little review button and leave some thoughts to fuel the fire. Keep it real!_

_- Tyler_

* * *

_"No, you're gonna stop her - before she stops you."_

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Sam demanded in a quiet voice as he took a step closer to his brother.

"It means she's gonna raise her ugly head in about a week and you two _knuckleheads_ are gonna try and take her down." Nate uncrossed her arms and suddenly turned her head towards the window, eyes squinting into the distance, "She'll be waiting for you. It won't be pretty."

"Well that's a gloomy prediction there, Nostradamus, and why exactly do you care?" Dean queried cynically, and she smiled acidly.

"I'm a patriot."

"You're wearing a _Canadian flag_ ring!" Bobby grouched, and Nate's fist curled inwards protectively.

"Can't pay a little tribute to Mommy's side of the family?"

"This is absurd." Castiel finally broke his turgid silence, seeming almost angry as he marched forward, and Nate shied back from the angel as he did so, "If what you say is true and you are here to help us, then why are you joining forces with an archdemon?"

"An archdemon?" Sam turned to his angel friend with an air of cautious alarm, "Cas - what are you talking about?"

"The demon with whom she consorted in order to pass through time." Castiel paced crossly before pausing to stand several inches away from Nate and glaring into her eyes, "Oplexicon."

Nate's face stiffened and her jaw jutted out stubbornly as she cocked her head to the side and met the angel's eyes with her own, "I'm not the enemy here, Castiel."

"I don't believe that." He responded, never breaking her gaze.

"Then believe _this_." Nate stepped forward, invading Cas's personal space in return for his own attack, "Meg Masters is going to bring on the Croatoan virus, and she's gonna do it soon. So I suggest you back off of me and start focusing all that archangel wrath in a more _constructive_ bent."

Castiel remained silent in the face of the girl's sudden bravado. He studied her intently for a moment, eyes narrowed in a suspicious slant.

Dean glanced at his younger brother, who raised his eyebrows tentatively in response before averting his gaze to Cas and Nate, the latter of whom swallowed heavily and took a step away from the angel.

"Stay out of my head." She growled, a menacing defensive air crackling in her voice.

"Your name isn't Waters. It's Winters." Castiel informed her, "Why lie about your surname?"

"Plausible denial." Nate snarled, and Castiel returned to a deep silence as he peered into the young girl's mind.

"Cas?" Dean queried cautiously, while Sam flashed a look at Nate's leather-clad back which clearly stated he was wondering what exactly the girl had to hide.

_Everything_, it seemed - judging by the stony, almost frightened expression Nate was wearing. She began to pace anxiously, arms swinging by her side before she paused and pointed agitatedly at Dean.

"Look, do you want my help or not?"

"Help with what?" He responded with a bewildered eyebrow raise, "I mean, you're not exactly being overly forthcoming with the info here. Meg is gonna whip herself up a Croatoan cocktail - how, when, where?"

"I don't know all the details yet, alright?" Nate snapped, and Sam entered the conversation at this point with an indignant huff.

"You can't seriously expect us to buy into this crap."

"Speak for yourself, kid." Bobby admonished, poking his head through the door before any of them ever realized he had left the room at all, "I for one happen to believe her."

"And why is that?" Sam queried with a slight smirk and derisive squint of his eyes.

"Because there's a crowd o' demons outside my front door and one o' them just waved a goddamn white flag, that's why!" Bobby drawled laconically, cocking the shotgun he'd snatched up and nodding at the boys, "Wait here - I'll go see what they want."

"What're you nuts?" Dean had already drawn his handgun and was on Bobby's tail as the older hunter stood in the threshold of his doorway and turned to grace Dean with wide, clueless eyes.

"Hey, I don't like it any more than you do," Bobby ignored the sarcastic silent scoff Dean let out at the words, "I just know that whatever we got, they want it bad."

"Great!" Dean nodded as he pushed past Bobby and stepped out into the cold night air, "Then let's go."

Bobby's lips disappeared under his beard as he tightened his mouth and shook his head at Sam, who was hovering in the entrance to the study, one giant hand resting on the top of the doorframe, "Just...watch the kid."

"'The kid' can watch _herself_." And suddenly Nate was there, ducking under Sam's arm and squeezing through the space between his ribcage and the door. Her hand reached into the fold of her jacket and her face was drawn into an irritated scowl as she traipsed towards the front door...only to be snagged around the bicep by Sam at the same time as Castiel suddenly appeared directly in her path.

Nate reacted with an exhale of breath through her nose as she pressed her lips closed tightly, "It's me they want; you know that."

"Maybe so." Castiel responded, "But they won't be able to get you if you're travelling through time." He reached up a set of fingers, which Nate grabbed and attempted to twist...without any luck, naturally, but Sam had to smirk at her spunk.

"Look, pal, you can pull your little ET finger waggle on me as often as you like. 'These Jedi mind tricks don't work on me'." Nate briefly adopted the warbled accent of the Phantom Menace's most crooked alien.

Castiel remained blank. She sighed.

"You don't think I took precautions? The deal I made is airtight. I get six months until it blows; before that, nobody can touch me. Not you, not anybody else either." With these words, she pointedly wrenched her arm out of Sam's grip, and he rolled his eyes at the dramatics.

"Just trust me?" Nate flashed him a smile that would have been almost pretty barring the fact that her teeth were grit and her eyelashes were batting out sarcastic pleas a mile a minute, "I'm gonna be around to stick in your sides for a whole lot longer than this."

Sam raised his eyebrows sceptically at Castiel, whose retinas fluttered as he appeared to be scanning Nate's mind (she confirmed this by scowling heavily in his direction all of as sudden).

"Very well." Castiel seemed satisfied with his findings, whatever those may have been, and stepped aside to allow Nate passage through the front door. Sam stifled a loud protest and instead moved quietly to the angel's side as Nate disappeared through the door and slammed it behind her.

"You really think this is a good idea?"

"Nate was telling the truth. Whatever these demons want her for, they're not going to be able to get it, not yet." Castiel watched through the smudged window pane as the girl's sleek brown hair flounced in the cold November breeze and she stalked towards Bobby and Dean.

"This is a bad idea." Sam couldn't help murmuring his five cents as he joined Castiel by the window, and the angel cast a veiled glance at the side of the man's head which went unseen by Sam.

"It's right that you should think so."

Sam turned to Cas then with a befuddled expression, "Then why are you letting it happen?

"I see no reason for stopping it." The celestial creature squinted his vessel's eyes and clasped his hands behind him, chin tilting upwards as he watched Nate catch up to Dean and Bobby and begin to exchange heated words with the two, "It will confirm my personal findings regarding her alliance with Oplexicon. The deal she made is very powerful, so it would stand to reason that the demon itself is likewise a formidable force."

"Yeah well. It's nothing we can't handle." Sam spoke the words not with the proud and dark swagger of his younger, pre-Apocalypse years, but with the grim confidence that his post-Apocalypse years had earned him. The moment of serenity was short-lived as the hunter let out an exasperated sigh at the sight of Nate triumphantly brushing past Bobby to address the demons.

"I dunno _why_ I don't like it," Sam admitted to Cas, "I just...don't like it. What if they capture her?"

"They appear to be moving off." His angel friend informed him, eyes still trailing Nate's figure as the demon crowd disbanded and went aground shortly after a few choice words were spoken by the girl.

* * *

"I don't get it." Dean turned to Bobby, an incredulous squint on his features as the crowd of demons dispersed shortly after a very brief and cryptic spiel from the equally cryptic Nate Winters, "They're just leaving without so much as a peep?"

"Somethin' don't smell right to me either." Bobby acknowledged, nodding a heads-up at Dean as the young girl turned and headed towards them, her long brown hair catching the wind and streaking away from a face flushed with cold - and excitement.

"It's so awesome - it actually _works_!" Nate fairly squealed as she came to halt.

"_What_ works? What'd you say to them?" Dean demanded in a harsh voice that demanded answers, and she scowled at him.

"Chillax, Chachi, they just wanted to know if the rumours had any truth to'em."

"What rumours?" Dean raised his eyebrows dangerously.

"Future's so bright, they gotta wear shades?" She prompted, and Bobby looked at Dean with grim eyes. Nate caught the gesture and shrugged dismally, "Look, they bought into that crap I pitched them about some grand archdemon busting out of his hole. Guess they figure they're in for it if they don't leave me be."

"Yeah well lemme tell you something about demons, sweetheart." Dean didn't seem quite as convinced as Nate, and with good reason, "They're the walking personification of lies, alright, and sooner or later they're gonna find out you're not really here to prepare the way for their shiny new messiah."

Nate mulled over the words with a slow nod of her head before a dry smile cracked her lips, "Hey yeah, I'm like their freaking John the Baptist. Never thought about it that way."

"Uh huh?" Dean nodded with a tight, sarcastic smile of his own before rolling his eyes and tucking his handgun back into his belt, "Let's go."

"Not so fast there, Deano." The coy, surly female voice had the three humans whirling around to face the source - a slight, pale woman with striking features and crimped brown hair that folded into the creases of her leather jacket.

"John the Baptist and I need to have a little word." Meg raised an eyebrow with a triumphant smile in Nate's direction, "You know, there is something _real_ familiar about you, Nate. Have we met?"

"As a matter of fact, yeah." Nate was afraid - the rigid stance of her shoulders and the upward tilt of her jaw bore similar resemblance to her manner around Castiel. But the anger in her cold grey eyes was enough to relay one message to Dean and Bobby; Nate hated this demon with everything inside of her.

Bobby's rifle was aimed, along with Dean's .44, right at Meg's head. Sam had charged down the steps of Bobby's porch and was running to stand behind Dean, Colt at the ready. A small flutter of wind whipped at their flanks, and Castiel was at Meg's side. She barely had time to gasp before he had grabbed her around the waist in a vice-grip and placed his palm flat across her forehead.

Meg reacted quickly, gripping Castiel's wrists and yanking his arms open to allow her knee a free ride into his ribcage, followed immediately by a sturdy uppercut that sent him stumbling backwards. Meg reached quickly into her jacket and drew an angel-slaying blade, keeping her centre of gravity low as Castiel moved forward to circle her.

"Okay hold up!" It was Nate, and she appeared to be worried for one of the two (Dean and Sam were unclear on whether it was Meg or Cas) as she hurried to stand between them and flashed Meg a pointed look, "You wanna talk to me, let's talk."

"Wait a second; I thought killing Meg was the whole agenda here." Sam turned to Dean in confusion as the latter watched Nate and Meg stand aways off from the others.

"I think the kid knows somethin' we don't." Dean narrowed his eyes at the two females. Meg's arms were crossed and her eyebrows were raised in what looked like sceptical curiosity. Nate's hands were speaking along with her lips as she quietly conveyed some information to the demon.

"What do you think they're sayin'?" Bobby sounded incredulous at the whole affair, and Sam huffed impatiently as Meg and Nate began to walk slowly away from the crowd while still engaging in conversation.

"Let's find out." Before anyone could blink, Sam was stalking purposefully towards the women, the Colt still clenched in a giant hand that was swinging by his thighs as he fairly marched to stand beside Nate.

"Damn it, Sammy," Dean growled under his breath with a shake of his head as he tightened his mouth and followed after his brother, "No way this is gonna end well."

"Heya Sammy." Meg graced him with an amicable smile which was nullified by her next remark, "How about letting the grown-ups talk?"

"Couldn't agree more." He returned the strained grin, unaware of (or possibly ignoring) the frosty scowl Nate was aiming at his back - which he had turned to her when he had stepped almost directly in-between the two girls.

"No offence, Sam, but all this is just a little above your paygrade." Meg reasoned as she unfolded her arms to rest one hand on her hip, "See, Nate here is from the future..."

"Yeah we get that." Dean appeared on the scene, his body language as much as his tone offering Sam all the backup his brother could ever have asked for under the current circumstances, "Question is, what's got you so revved up you crawled all the way out from under your boulder?"

"Well for one thing," The female demon raised her eyebrows at Dean, "that book in there is private property."

Sam scoffed, "That so, huh?"

"It's mine." Meg paced a few steps and turned over an empty can with the edge of her ankle boot disdainfully before returning her attention to the Winchesters, "Call it a family heirloom. It's been missing for centuries."

"Yeah well. Finders keepers, bitch." Dean smiled acidly, and at this point Nate clearly felt led to regain control of the reins as she cleared her throat loud enough for Meg to bite back the retort she was about to hurl at Dean and regain her previous focus.

"You know what, boys? It's been real fun trading C -grade insults with the two of you," Meg sauntered to Nate's side and wrapped her arm around the young girls' shoulders, delighting in the way all three humans tensed at the action, "but Natey here and I were kind of in the middle of something, so let's just put a raincheck on this and I'll come back and kick your asses another time, whaddya say?"

"No thanks." Sam started forward at that, nostrils flared and an impatient desire to be rid of Meg Masters once and for all etched all over his face, but Castiel's hand clamped down on his arm and stopped him in his tracks.

"Wait."

"For what?" Sam demanded as he pinned Castiel with a harsh scowl, "The epidemic?"

"She didn't come alone." Castiel muttered, and Meg, overhearing the statement, allowed a sly smile to the fore.

"I see you got your wings back, Clarence." She reached out a slender hand and scratched an invisible Hell Hound behind the ears. Dean instantly straightened uncomfortably, and Sam swallowed matter-of-factly before cocking the Colt in his hand directly at Meg's head. The demon responded by widening the maddening smile she was wearing and even emitting a petite giggle.

"Okay, that's _enough_!" Nate had apparently had enough of being ignored and marched forward the two steps necessary to shove the muzzle of the Colt downwards forcefully while glaring at Sam, "This is _not_ helping." She ground out the words between grit teeth in a low voice.

"Neither are you." Sam replied in like manner as he leant forward, shoulders and torso bent to bring him on eye level with Nate's 5'5 frame. Her gray eyes squinted the threat of death into his own.

"This is none of your business, Sam..."

"Look, you want her dead? Let us handle it." He had nothing further to say on the subject, instead placing a hand on Nate's slim shoulder and shoving her aside. She stumbled with the action but was back in his path before more then a second had gone by. Sam's jaw locked into a slightly more terrifying version of his classic 'bitch face'. Nate had already been wearing her own version for quiet some time.

"Look, if you try this now, our chance is blown. It's not as cut and dry as killing Meg - she's a fish in an ocean and if you gank her before you discredit her, she'll get freaking _canonized_. Meg is a middle man. Whoever's spiking her punch is gonna keep right on going."

"Yeah? So what do you suggest, that we lay down our arms and parley for terms?" Dean, who had sidled in on the conversation, was shoulder to shoulder with Sam now and giving Nate his own version of a third-degree.

The young girl rolled her eyes in frustration and glanced over her shoulder at Meg, who was watching the whole exchange with great amusement.

"Look, just...give me some time, alright? I have it under control."

Dean nodded as his scowl deepened, "Oh really? So I guess the whole girl-on-girl thing was your own idea."

"We can't all _muscle_ our way through life." She pulled her lips back into a strained smile, which became slightly less counterfeit at the momentary speechlessness Sam and Dean underwent as a result of her statement.

"Man, you are nine kinds of crazy, you know that?" Dean managed to get out, and Nate squinted at the air to her right before responding.

"More or less." She slapped Dean on the shoulder prior to turning to Meg, who was tapping her foot impatiently, "Okay. You ready?"

"I was _born_ ready, baby." Meg grinned tenaciously, but it was directed entirely at Sam and Dean, "Boys." She dipped her head in mock politeness, and they returned cold glares her way.

"Am I missin' something here; are we really just let gonna the _women_ hash this one out?" Bobby protested strongly as Meg pressed a finger to Nate's forehead and the pair disappeared from sight.

"Something isn't right about all this." Castiel agreed, "But I will say one thing for Nate Winters - she is who she says she is."

"Yeah and who is that exactly?" Dean was apparently torqued by the whole encounter, "I mean one minute she's playing save-the-world-by-Thursday and the next it's footsie time with _Meg_?"

Sam grimaced at that mental picture, "Dude."

"I'm just sayin'," Dean grumbled, turning to head back into the house, "this Nate kid's a walking, talking pile of contradicting statements."

Sam shrugged noncommittally as he joined his brother, "Maybe you're right. All the same, if Meg's whipping up a fresh new steamy batch of Croatoan, this Nate kid's all we got."

Dean rolled his eyes as he tucked his gun away and stepped up onto the porch, "I'm telling you, man, one day," He raised his eyebrows and pointed a finger at Sammy's chest, "we are gonna have more to go on then all these smart-mouthed, neutral double-crossers."

Sam sighed with a despondent eyebrow raise of agreement as he headed inside of the house after his brother.

* * *

Nate Winters placed her hands on her knees and fought back the desire to vomit as she rematerialized after having been transported by Meg out of Winchester earshot. Her head spun and bright lights danced in front of her bleary grey eyes as she straightened and inhaled deeply in an effort to fend off nausea.

"Don't be such a drama queen." Meg Masters strolled under the flickering, bare light bulb above her head, arms crossed and boots splashing in the murky puddles underneath the roof's many leaks. "Some archdemon drags you five years back in time and suddenly a little trip down the block is causing motion sickness?"

Nate flashed the demon a lackadaisical scowl, "The archdemon's ride has a little more _suspension_."

"I'm sure it does." Meg smiled, apparently quite satisfied with her findings so far as she paced slowly back and forth, "So Nate - tell me about yourself."

"I didn't get ass-chafed through the portal to write my own biography." The young girl tucked her hands into her pockets and scuffed her boot tip back and forth languidly, and Meg grinned wider.

"All business, are we now?" She was suddenly standing behind Nate, her lips sweet with the scent of cinnamon lip gloss and brushing against Nate's ear, "That is such a turn on." Meg pulled back before Nate could regain her composure, "So here's the bottom line; I want to know about the new Darth Vader in town. You want something from me - so let's switch."

Nate laughed, "Let's keep it real here, Meg. I don't want anything from you." She raised her eyebrows and Meg followed suit, "But I'll tell you what you want to know, and I'll tell you why you want to know it. You're planning something big, and you wanna turn the competition into back-up."

From the concealing shadow of a pile of crates, Castiel pressed his back to their cold criss-crosses and craned his neck ever so slightly, his angelic ears catching every lilt and hum of the women's voices as they conversed.

"Well nothing gets by you, does it?" Meg was, as always, a picture of composure, "So enough foreplay then. Let's move on to second base."

"His name's Oplexicon. He's what you might call...retired." Nate tucked a wisp of hair behind her ears, "He was one of the third of angels that Lucifer took with him when he fell. Doesn't really care for the new generation of demon Satan whipped up, so he mostly stays out of action."

"So what makes _you_ so special?" Meg folded her arms once more and nodded at Nate, who smiled darkly.

"Oh that's for me to know and you to wonder."

"I have trust issues."

"Then get a therapist."

Meg laughed softly and turned her back to survey the leaking roof of the cottage, "You know what I'm doing here, then?"

Nate raised an eyebrow grimly, "Following in Daddy's footsteps?"

"I'm building a future he would be proud of." Meg took several paces away and ran her fingernail over a dusty tabletop, "Fulfilling his dream."

Nate's eyes rolled full circle at this proclamation, "A word of advice? Never live your life for someone else's dream - _especially_ if it's your father's."

"Ooh." Meg chirped, twisting on her hip to eye Nate coyly, "Sounds like I'm not the only one with issues here, Natey. What, your daddy up and leave or something?"

Nate smiled grimly, "Or something."

From the vantage point of his hiding place, Castiel's eyes fell to the pile of crates on which he had been leaning. There were large piles covered in dirty brown tarping, but the stack beside him gave the angel his first clue as to their contents. Metallic cylinders - reeking of blood.

Castiel frowned at the various symbols scrawled across the surface of the crates. Some he recognized - some he didn't. It seemed an odd mess of assiduals - almost as though a new protective or incubative formula was being tested. He returned his attention to the conversation as Meg's voice rose several octaves.

"Why send you back here, Nate?" The demon seemed somewhat ruffled as she circled the youngster, who was clearly using her indifference as a means of masking her discomfort, "Hmm? If Oplexicon is so retired, why rile himself up to hurl one puny, insignificant little human back through time?"

"I made it worth his while. Look, what's it you? I have information from the future and I just thought you wanted it, that's all. But evidently, I overestimated its worth." Nate turned to leave, but Meg gripped her arm.

"Not so fast." The demon cooed, and Castiel ducked quickly behind a set of crates closer to the exchange, "You made me a gesture of goodwill - now it's time for me to return the favour."

Nate's stare was cold and vacant, and Meg released her arm to clasp her own at the small of her back as she stalked to and fro.

"I know who you are. Who you _really_ are." She smiled at the way Nate drew in her breath sharply, "Sorry, kiddo - but it really is just that obvious."

Castiel pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and shook out an ancient-looking ball-point pen, hastily scribbling the symbols down. Things were about to take a turn for the worse.

"Don't worry." Meg reassured Nate with a patronizing grin, "I won't tell. I mean, honestly?" She paused and raised her eyebrows in what appeared to be genuine sympathy, "It's sort of its own reward, isn't it?"

Nate was still dead silent, prompting Meg to continue the egging with greater gusto then ever as she wallowed in her discovery, "I get where you're coming from, Natey, I do. Must be hard."

"Quit throwing stones from your glass house, Meg." When Nate finally recovered her speech it was to spit the words out angrily, "At least I'm not still _pining_."

That seemed to strike a nerve. Meg's ever-present smirk vanished and she narrowed her eyes at Nate. "Careful."

"Why?" Nate tilted her head with a grin, "I've got immunity. I can poke a chained bear as often as I damn well please."

"I want the book." Meg hastily switched topics, "In exchange for my silence."

"Your silence was in exchange for information."

"Which the book is just chock-full of."

"You know what?" Nate stepped forward, "Go ahead. Rat me out; tell Sam and Dean everything." She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows at Meg, "But seriously, other than pissing me off...how much do you think it's gonna hurt me?"

Castiel pocketed the paper and returned his eyes to Nate Winters as Meg's petite frame sidled closer to the girl. Apparently, Nate had just called the demon's bluff - and she knew it, too.

"You want the book?" Nate eyed Meg with disdain as the woman graced her with an uncharacteristically cold glare, "You either earn it," Nate leant into Meg's personal space, "Or you get it yourself."


	3. Chapter 3

_Alright, people - That's it. Where are my reviews? 60 plus hits and visits to each chapter and not a single bit of feedback. It kills the muse, all. So please hit the button and tell me if you love it or hate it. Thank you. _

_- Tyler_

* * *

Sam owned a 2005 Ford Focus. It was a conservative, non-descript vehicle - the kind of car that Sam (largely due to his brother's influence) had always associated with soccer moms or working dads. But the fact of the matter stood that even if Sam cruised the streets in War's red Mustang, Dean still wouldn't have approved - because no car really held a candle to the Impala in his big brother's eyes. Which was fair enough.

Besides, Sam was doing his best to stay out of the limelight, and a shiny classic ride wasn't exactly on board with that particular plan.

Neither was Sam with the notion that the irritatingly mysterious Nate Winters was everything she claimed. Sam hadn't missed the seemingly insignificant tellers from Cas when the angel had scanned Nate's mind, and he was determined to uncover any secrets Castiel might have been retaining. The time for secrets was at an end.

Sam closed the door to his silver Ford and began striding towards the comely wooden house ahead of him, aiming his keypad over his broad shoulder and locking the car as he stepped through the white picket fence gate and grinned despite himself. The fence had been a point of contention between Dean and Lisa - with Dean wanting it done away with entirely, naturally, and Lisa insisting on its practicality - and significance. Her husband's days of roving the country as a lone cavalier were over, and Lisa wanted him to know it.

Sam sighed at the inviting brass door knocker and squared his shoulders bravely. He had never thought it would pan out this way - with Dean being one relatively at ease in a suburban, family lifestyle, and Sam having difficulty choking down Lisa's Sunday roasts despite his faithful efforts at doing so. There were just some experiences that time couldn't undo. Family and the relating commitments and emotions might lessen their effect over time, but time itself would never be able to muster up squat.

Sam was about to knock on the door when it opened. He smiled, unsurprised, as Lisa stood, bright-eyed and beautiful, in the entrance. Her smile was like Christmas Morning, and Sam felt the familiar pang of gratitude for his brother's good fortune.

"Hey! You're fifteen minutes late; everything okay?" Lisa stepped aside to usher Sam inside, the giant man dwarfing her petite, athletic build. That was one thing that got Sam like a knife in the gut every single time. The way her triceps were mounted off of perfectly sculpted shoulders - not too round and not too chiseled. It reminded him of Ruby and the body she had possessed.

It's nice inside this body, Sam. It's soft, and warm.

He shook his head briefly before awkwardly returning the embrace Lisa had engulfed him in.

"Yeah, just...been a long week, you know?"

"Dean told me about Nate." Lisa stepped back and gripped her biceps as she adopted a worried expression, "Any update on where she is?"

Sam could smell the turkey, sizzling its goodness from the dining room.

"Uh, well Cas has been gone for a few hours now, so I think he's tailing her." Sam headed through the drooping arch in the hall door, ducking customarily as he did so. It was strange to actually have a place besides Bobby's Salvage Yard to call home. Not that Sam actually lived in said house - despite Dean's nagging and Lisa's gentle, continuous hints. He did rent a modest apartment not too far from his brother's for the times when there was a lull in his hunting. During such 'vacations', Ben would demand to stay with 'his uncle' for as long as Sam would let him, and shabby motel rooms were something both Dean and Sam never wanted Ben to see the inside of if they could help it.

"Sammy." Dean had tossed a beer in his direction while his thoughts had been far away, but Sam's hunting reflexes still enabled him to catch the glass bottle before it clattered to the ground.

"Getting a little rusty there, kiddo." Dean winked at him while imbibing a generous swig of his Budwieser, and Sam smiled snarkily.

"You pitched it low. Were you, uh, aiming for something there?"

"There's something _there_?" Dean flashed him a genuinely surprised expression - which suddenly morphed into a horrified grimace at a bubbling hiss erupting from the stove, "Shit! The peas!"

Sam laughed triumphantly as he watched his brother hurry over to the smoking, overflowing pot of green peas and turn off the gas, while fanning at the steam around him.

"Okay - I think I saved'em."

"Benjamin! Dinner!" Lisa yelled up the stairs as she headed back into the kitchen/dining room, only to sniff the air with a grimace, "Is something burning?"

"Absoloutely not! Everything's under control." Dean's attempt at grabbing the pot handle ended with him yanking it back with a hissing curse. Sam smirked widely and took a gulp of his beer, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he choked on a laugh. Lisa was already grabbing an oven mitt and carefully relocating the pot of peas to a colander in the sink.

"Well, more or less." Dean offered meekly, and his wife turned to grace him with a reassuring smile.

"Of course it is." She placed a quick but tender kiss on his lips before shaking out the peas and dumping them into a waiting serving bowl. Sam relished the quiet light in Dean's eyes as his brother watched Lisa work for a moment before turning back to his beer - and his comfortable dining chair.

"Where's Benny?"

"You know, he doesn't actually _like_ that name." Sam pointed out, sinking his large frame in to the chair that Lisa ushered him towards.

"Are you kidding? I've been callin' him that since he was ten and in the Little League." Dean retorted.

"Well now he's _fourteen_ and hates baseball." Sam reminded his brother, and Dean batted away the accusation with his hand.

"He does _not_ hate baseball."

"Hey mom?" Ben's voice seemed to get deeper every time Sam heard it. But then again, Sam hadn't heard it in a while, "Why do you keep dumping this thing back in my room?"

The question rang clear even over the determined thud of bare feet as Ben came hurtling down the stairs and into the dining room, clutching the offending baseball mitt in his hand.

"I stuck it with the garage sale stuff!" He insisted, and then gave a short exhale of pleasure as he caught sight of Sam, "Hey, Sam! Didn't know you were here!"

"What's wrong with the glove?" Dean wanted to know, and Ben rolled his eyes patiently as he stalked over to the table and plonked himself into one of chairs.

"It's a pussy sport and I want out."

"Um, okay, language, please?" Lisa remonstrated.

"Well it _is_!"

"And what's that got to do with a $150 glove?" Lisa demanded, sleek hair bouncing in decisive crimps as she set the roast on the table.

"Ryan Humphrey wants to buy it for $200." Ben placed the offending item on the table, "I told him to come to our garage sale next Friday and I'd sell it to him."

Dean let out a laugh, "That's my man." He bumped fists with Ben, while Lisa and Sam exchanged skeptical glances before the former raised her eyebrows decisively.

"Alright, well let's talk about it later. No need to ruin the occasion with questionable business enterprises." This sentence she aimed pointedly at Dean, who cleared his throat and swallowed with a nudge at Ben.

"Hey,"

"Huh."

"Glove off the table, buddy, come on."

"So, Sam, how long you staying?" Ben complied, sweeping the baseball glove into his lap and scooting his chair forward.

"Uh, I dunno yet." Sam admitted, nodding gratefully at Lisa as she carved him a portion of meat and scraped it onto his plate. Lisa always served enough food to feed an army. Ben and Dean would eat the entirety of the meal between themselves if Lisa and Sam, with their bird-like appetites, weren't also present. Not that it made much difference.

"Well are you gonna be here on Monday?" Ben served himself a sizeable portion of mashed potates as he spoke, "Cuz there's this thing I wanna ask you about and..."

"No." Both Lisa and Dean blurted out the word simultaneously, and Sam sighed long-sufferingly at Ben.

"Would this 'thing' have something to do with Tracy Simmon's death, by any chance?"

Ben huffed at his parents' sour faces, "She was drowned in her own sink. I mean, does that smell right to _any_ of you?"

"You know what doesn't smell right? Your jersey. Aren't you using that deodorant I bought you?" That was Lisa's primary tactic - subject-switching. She was a pro, Sam thought. She had to be.

"I went by her house after school and talked with her mom? Tracy's sink was _backed up_ the day it up happened - they were having a plumber over to check it out!" Ben had turned the full heat of his persuasion on Sam, who was well accustomed to such treatment and wisely remained silent while the powers that were battled it out.

"Eat your food." Dean's tactic was the same as it had been for Sam growing up under his brother's thumb - orders. Dean was great at them. In fact, he had a whole repertoire up his sleeve.

"So what, you guys are just gonna let whatever killed her get away with it." Ben was insistent and unrelenting. He always had been, according to Lisa. The accompanying attitude had come with puberty.

"Sam and I'll look into it. In the meantime, keep off the Simmon's lawn. Last thing they want is some kid badgering them." Dean always talked with his mouth full. It was a habit he had only managed to aggravate in Ben, who had been born with his own unique version. The two of them drove Sam and Lisa nuts at the table.

"Well then maybe _you two_ should go check it out." Ben's last-ditch attempt at rebelliousness was muttered quietly in a tone that stated he was standing up inside.

"Maybe we will." Sam both acknowledged Ben's point and ended the topic in one move. Lisa flashed him a grateful hint of a smile.

"Peas, Sam?"

"If you say no, the door is that way." Dean warned coolly from between swigs of his beer, and Ben would normally have stifled a snicker had the boy not been too absorbed in sulking.

Sam grinned at his brother, "No thanks, Lisa, I'm good."

"Don't let it hit you in the ass on the way out." The older hunter finished his beer and slammed it down on the table in a heightened display of sensitivity, and Lisa shook her head at her hubby's antics.

"Can you two just behave yourselves for _one_ meal, please?"

"Absoloutely - eat your peas like a good little boy, Sammy."

"I would if they weren't the charbroiled _insides_ of what used to be 'my peas'."

"Mmm, I second that." Ben hadn't managed to stay out of the family jab-and-counter-jab for long, and Dean exchanged a silent expression of triumph with his wife. Lisa's mouth tightened into a fought-off smile and she appeared grateful when her cell phone buzzed.

"Sorry, that's mine."

"Yeah we know - you think any of us'd have the _Hulu_ as a ringtone?" Ben was attacking the roast for seconds with great gusto and seemed back to his usual self once again.

"I thought this was a no-cell phone event." Dean complained as Lisa stood up, and she patted his shoulder.

"Sorry, I forgot to turn it off." Lisa stalked into the hall to avoid disturbing the room's other occupants with her call.

"I'm turning mine back on!" Dean yelled after pettily, and then nudged his brother, "Whaddya wanna bet it's Stan callin' her?"

"Stan?" Ben's ears perked up, "You don't mean that wierd male yoga student of hers, right?"

"You bet I do; twenty bucks, right here." Dean tapped in front of him pointedly, and Sam sighed heavily at his older brother.

"You familiar with the term 'paranoid' there, Dean?"

"Nah Stan's not paranoid, he's just a pervert."

"Honey," Lisa had one hand over her phone as she returned, looking somewhat ruffled, "It's Castiel. He wants to talk to you."

Dean took the phone as she handed it to him, "Cas?"

"Can you remind him he's always invited to Sunday dinner but he's never allowed to _call_ you during it?" Lisa resumed her seat with as much irritation as the well-mannered woman would ever show in public. _In public_ being the key words. Dean had told Sam some hair-raising stories.

"At the house, where I _always_ am on Sunday." Dean nodded at his wife's request while continuing his conversation with his angelic associate, "Why you callin' anyway, man? You know Sunday dinner's sacred."

"_Nothing_ is sacred anymore." Castiel's deep voice sounding off not one meter away from Ben caused the teenager to jump and send his fork clattering to the floor - along with the peas that had been gingerly waiting on the tip of said fork.

"Jesus Christ!" Ben muttered in exasperation as he turned to glare at the angel standing in the dining room, "Don't you ever knock?"

"Ben, don't be rude." Lisa clearly shared her son's sentiments but was nothing if not a sticker for manners.

"Kid's got a point, though." Dean's viewpoint on manners was that if they weren't on a hunt and garnering information, manners (at least the sort that Lisa - and Sam, incidentally - insisted upon) were a luxury.

"I'm sorry, but my time is limited." Castiel stepped around the table to stand between Dean and Sam's chairs as both brothers twisted to face him, "We need to talk."

"Can't it wait?" Dean demanded sharply, and Castiel's blank expression spelled out his negative response.

Dean's scowl remained as he exchanged a meaningful glance with his brother before catching Lisa's gaze from across the table. She drummed her fingers against the tablecloth and pressed her lips together in a clear display of displeasure, but nodded briefly at her husband.

Ben's eyes were keen, eagerness hiding behind a thin layer of indifference as his gaze darted back and forth between Dean and Castiel. Something about the dark excitement on his face made Sam, who was the only adult in the room attuned to it just then, wary and concerned.

"Fine." Dean pushed away from the table, "But this _better_ be good. Let's go out back."

"I'm afraid the location for this discussion needs to be slightly more secure." Castiel spoke apologetically, and before either Sam or Dean could stop him, he had touched a finger to both of their foreheads.

The three men disappeared sharply from the room, leaving Lisa and Ben sitting in silence at the table.

Ben was snickering now, and Lisa, who found the situation anything but amusing, cast him a frown.

"What?"

He glanced at her slyly, "Dinner with the Winchesters. Great name for a sitcom, don't you think?"

Lisa's eyes were icy and dangerous, "Eat your peas."

* * *

"Wal-Mart." Dean griped as he waved a hand at the rows of packaged meat in the frozen food section, "You call this _secure_?"

"The incessant noise and activity will likely throw off any potential eavesdroppers." Castiel seemed certain of his facts as he stalked over to a row of trolleys and turned to Sam, who, unfortunately, was with Dean on this one.

"Likely? Cas, for dragging us halfway across town we're gonna need a little more than 'likely'."

"Do you have a nickel?" Castiel demanded, and Sam frowned in confusion at the bizzare request.

"What? What do you want a _nickel_ for?"

"To blend in!" The angel stated as though it were obvious, and Sam sighed while he fumbled through his pockets and handed Cas the requested coin.

"Thank you." Castiel shoved it into the trolley's slot and pulled the trolley neatly out of its hold, shoving the handle into Sam's grip, "Let's walk."

The brothers cast each other befuddled and frustrated glances before Dean raised his eyebrows at the angel, "Fine." He grabbed hold of the trolley and yanked it out of Sam's hands, rolling it towards Cas with enough force to send him almost a step back as he caught it, "But you're pushing the damn trolley."

"So?" Sam was the first the ask the million-dollar question as the two followed Castiel down the aisle, "What's this about?"

"Nate Winters is forming an alliance with Meg." The angel informed them, "I witnessed their conversation in the very same room where Meg is housing the preliminary beginnings of the epidemic."

"Well that makes no sense." Dean brushed shoulders with a morbidly obese man clutching a packaged rake and ignored his glare, "Nate said she came back to _stop_ Meg. Why would she wanna cosy up to her?"

"Because she _didn't_ come back to stop her." Castiel stopped in his tracks, "She came back to _help_ her."

"What're you pausing for _emphasis_?" Dean found the notion highly amusing.

"No. For poultry." Castiel turned and scanned the shelves in complete confusion before selecting the nearest frozen chicken and tossing it into the trolley, "Let's continue."

Dean rolled his eyes as they commenced walking once more, "I dunno, man. Nate didn't exactly seem all that fond of Meg's five-year blueprint, Why would she wanna get in on it? Seems kinda dicey."

"Dicey." Castiel paused at the milk section and cast Dean a calculating look, "I don't believe I'm familiar with that particular human phrase." He reached out and added two cartons of semi-skimmed to the trolley.

"Means risky." Dean's hand clamped down on Cas' wrist, "Are you kidding me? There is no way I'm traipsin' through this joint with a trolley-full o' semi-skimmed milk. Do you have any idea how _gay_ that is?"

Sam scoffed, "Dude, whatever. I've seen you with cart-fulls of Kellog's Special K."

"Yeah but that was for _Lisa_." Dean was busy packing the offending cartons back onto the shelf, and he turned to raise his eyebrows at his brother as he held aloft a six-pack of whole milk, "Cas isn't nearly as pretty."

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean pointedly tossed the milk into the trolley.

"Shall we continue?"

"Yes." Castiel didn't seem ruffled by the vague insult in the least as he steered the trolley into the men's-wear section, "I'm not certain of Nate's motives. It's possible she's intent on misleading Meg into believing she can be trusted. But I doubt it."

"Why? It makes a lot more sense." Sam queried, and then sighed long-sufferingly at the Star Wars T-shirt Castiel had pulled off the rail, "Dude...come on."

"My sources tell me this film has been popular for many years now." The angel explained in his defence, "I thought it would encourage the blending process."

"Sure, if we were buying it for _Ben_." Sam was trying to fend off laughter now.

"We are _not_ buying it for Ben." Dean snatched the T-shirt out of Castiel's grip and replaced it with a plain-looking button-down, "Try plaid. It's timeless." He turned to move on without another word.

"Okay so...we just need to have you read her mind again and tell us which it is. It's simple." Sam followed Castiel and Dean into the stationary section as he spoke, and Castiel manoeuvred the trolley just in time to avoid running over an old lady's toe as she stepped out of nowhere.

"Watch where you're going, sonny!" She scolded.

"I apologize." Castiel called back dismissively and then focused his attention on answering Sam, "It's anything but simple. Since I last read her mind, Nate has had barriers put in place to prevent my doing so again."

"How exactly?" Sam furrowed his eyebrows in surprise, and Castiel skidded to a halt in front of a shelf full of notebooks.

"I don't know, but I'm guessing Oplexicon had something to do with it."

"Oplexicon?" Dean interjected as Castiel perused the shelves with a look of intense concentration, "What, you mean her archdemon travel agent?"

"She must still be able to communicate with him somehow." Castiel affirmed, finally deciding on a High School Musical spiral-bind. "Is this acceptable?"

Dean stared blankly at the angel for a full minute.

Castiel nodded, satisfied at what he deemed to be Dean's approval, and tossed it into the trolley, "If you wish to question her, I can take you to Nate's current location. More than that, I'm afraid, is impossible for me at this time. I have other obligations that must be attended to."

"Like what?" Dean's eyebrows arched as they joined a check-out queue, "Ensuring humanity's safety? Cuz if that's still on the priority list, I think this whole thing might be worth a _little_ more attention!"

"If you are implying that humanity is no longer Heaven's responsibility, I must inform you..."

"_Guys_." Sam nudged the debating men sharply as they reached the counter, and Castiel cleared his throat at the comely attendant as she smiled at him.

"I would like to...make a purchase." He fumbled for a moment before twisting to his trolley and placing the odd assortment of items on the counter one by one.

The attendant, a pretty African-American who looked like she was fresh out of college, coyly eyed the three unusually striking men as she scanned their shopping. Dean smiled but made no further attempt at flirtation. He was behaving himself these days. Sam appeared lost in his own world of thought, the deep pensiveness overtaking him once again and leaving his handsome face dark and brooding - and unintentionally increasing his sex appeal by one hundred percent.

Castiel was glancing anxiously to and fro as the items were slid down the counter to a packing assistant. The clerk raised her eyebrows despite herself at the High School Musical notebook.

"It's...for my dog." Was the first thing Castiel managed to blurt out in his defense after sensing her strong distaste for the show.

"Uh _huh_." She quipped, before tapping at her keyboard, "43 dollars, please."

Castiel felt his pockets before turning to Dean, "Do you have 43 dollars?"

Dean glared at him stonily for a moment, keeping it up as he reached into his wallet and tossed down a fifty. "Keep the change, sweetheart." The older hunter pointed at Castiel determinedly, "You're gonna take us to her." He snatched up the plastic bags and shoved them into the angel's arms, "_After_ we finish dinner."

* * *

Lisa was clearing away the dishes when a flutter of activity in her kitchen caused her to jump and spin around. She gasped at her husband standing less than a foot away from her.

"Sorry." Dean held up his hands, and Lisa lowered the wok she had been about to swing at him. She sighed in irritation and stormed back to the sink.

"You know what, Ben's right. It _is_ annoying."

"You're telling me; I'm the one who keeps getting my _nuclei_ torn to shreds." Dean protested his innocence.

"Big word, Dean." Lisa muttered as she filled the dishwasher, "You learn it from Sam?"

Dean appeared flustered for a moment, and his silence encouraged his antagonized spouse to glance over her shoulder and wait for a response.

"Ben's biology homework." He finally admitted, and Lisa smiled acidly.

"Why am I not surprised?" She resumed clearing the kitchen with a vengeance.

"Gimme a break, would you? He's an _angel_, he doesn't exactly ask _permission_ before he drags me off for a one-on-one!" Dean tagged behind his wife, frustration seeping ever so slightly into his voice as she scraped the remainder of the burnt peas into the bin zealously, "Look, what was I supposed to do? Cas knows the weekend's off-limits, alright? I don't know how many times I've told him!"

"Well maybe you should stop _telling_ him where to _find_ you." Lisa paused in her silent treatment long enough to offer a small piece of her mind, and Dean had to admit he couldn't fault her logic.

"Maybe," He admitted, and Lisa rolled her eyes, "But I'll give him one thing, though, his timing could be worse."

"Could be worse?" She looked as though she was considering hurling the dishtowel at him, "Every Sunday for the last three weeks in a row, Dean - that's _sabotage_!"

"It's a meal." Dean was making the classic male error and at 35 he tragically still had no clue as to what that error was.

"No Dean. It's our _family_." Lisa waved the dirty carving knife in her hand for emphasis, and Dean's eyebrows rose cautiously all of a sudden, "It's me and you and Ben and Sam, together, and if that's not important to you..."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it, Lisa. Quit turning this into 'Days of Our Lives'."

"Okay, you know what? Fine." She slammed the dishwasher shut and poked the on-switch, "If you insist on making me out to be the melodramatic one, I'll oblige you. I'm sleeping on the couch tonight."

"Yeah which is code for _'you're_ sleeping on the couch tonight'." Dean muttered as he poured himself a glass of whiskey and chucked some ice inside.

"Excuse me?" Lisa demanded, and a sudden cough interrupted Dean's loaded response.

"Dad?" Ben had taken to calling Dean that when he was ten and still had a bad case of hero worship. Dean hadn't been too sure about it, but Lisa had encouraged him that if he was going to work the job, he may as well get the title since Ben was handing it to him on a platter. They'd never forced the issue. Every now and then as Ben got older, though, _Dad_ became _Dean_ whenever the teenager was surly and looking to place blame.

"There's some girl at the door asking for you." It was more of a question than an informational statement.

"A girl." Lisa seemed keen on using this as fodder for her current argument as she raised her eyebrows at her husband, "Well isn't that nice, honey? Visitors of _every_ gender."

"Well technically there hasn't been a um...hermaphrodite...just yet." Ben was cautiously taking Dean's side, as per usual. His mother looked at him icily.

"Ben, is your room clean?"

"And that's my cue to beat it." Ben was already heading up the stairs with a sympathetic wave at his stepfather. Dean caught Lisa's eyes and held them with a sober expression.

"Are we cool?"

It was so very Winchester. The typical three-word query to ensure that wounds were, if not healed, at least patched up for the time being. To any woman not intimately acquainted with Dean and/or Sam, the question would seem casual and even uncaring. But to Lisa, who understood the significance it held, the white flag was recognized and accepted.

"Yes."

Dean nodded in relief, "Good." The issue was still standing and would have to be sewn up later, but the argument was dissolved. At least for right then.

Lisa forced a small smile before returning to the kitchen mess, "Better go see who it is."

"Yeah." He headed for the door, waiting until he was out of sight of Lisa and throwing a quick glance over his shoulder at the staircase to ensure Ben's absence. Then he reached into the back of his belt and drew his trusty handgun. The days of women randomly showing up at Dean's doorstep were dead and gone.

Dean wasn't surprised to see the door latched on its chain. The fact that Dean didn't want Ben in the hunting business had no bearing on teaching him caution. Dean and Sam would always be Hell's Most Wanted, regardless of white picket fences and Fords.

He peered momentarily through the peep hole and then frowned, unlatching the chain. Dean pulled the door open with one hand and let his gun hang by his side with the other.

Nate Winters was standing on the porch, arms crossed and looking as though she was expecting to get eaten by monsters at any moment, "Can I come inside?"

"No." Dean stated as though the question was outrageous - which in the hunters mind it was.

Nate scowled, "Don't be so petty. It's not like I didn't get past your little _minefield_ of a front yard first - you got enough hidden devil's traps, salt and iron to catch a goddamn demon fleet."

Dean smiled mordantly, "Yeah well I take precautions."

"What I love about you. So can I come in now?"

Dean was about to shoot the question down a second time when he recognized true fear in the girl's eyes. Nate was afraid - and not of Dean. Something about her mannerism appealed to his inner protective streak, and without fully understanding why, Dean stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind him.

"We'll go in the garage, come on."

She followed him without a word.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Alright fine - be that way. DON'T review. But I know you're reading, y'all! I can see you on my traffic :P. Stop denying me the love I'm earning here and leave me feedback for my pains. Though I am gonna finish this book whether you do or not!**_

_**...Might take longer though :P.**_

_**- Tyler**_

* * *

The garage was easily as large as the circumference of the house's ground floor. It doubled as a luxury penthouse for the sacred Impala and a temporary haven for the odd tougher case that Dean worked on at his privately owned repair garage Metallicar. Cluttered was an insufficient term for the state of affairs. Dean excused the eternally present disaster as an organized mess and flatly forbade Ben or even Lisa from ever 'disrupting order' - or, in more honest terms, cleaning up.

There was the small side issue that Dean kept a great deal of his hunting gear tucked safely away in the garage's clandestine basement. But that was a piece of information kept strictly between himself, Lisa and Sam.

And Nate Winters as well, apparently.

"Guess it's the maid's day off." The girl still kept her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she stalked under the thick metal grate, "Not a very secure hiding place for all those rifles. But I gotta say, I like your style." She fingered the dog-eared end of a Led Zeppelin poster and looked up as the garage door slammed against the concrete floor with a sombre and very final note.

"Dean?" Nate glanced around, her eyebrow arching in pretend indifference at the hunter's sudden disappearance, "Oh come on." She shook her head at the roof, "You're not _seriously_ locking me in your _garage_!"

Silence greeted her queries.

"Dean!" Nate's yell echoed off the concrete walls. She rolled her eyes and banged a fist against the metal grate, "Great."

"You wanna ease up?"

Nate whirled around and then flashed an irritated scowl at the hunter leaning against the wall as he flicked on the overhead lights.

"My family's next door." Dean stated, "Keep a lid on it."

"Right, I forgot about your OCD complex regarding 'family'." Nate eyed the fresh coat of gloss paint on the wall beside her, then tossed Dean a wry look over her shoulder, "Shame it doesn't run in the bloodline."

Dean raised his his eyebrows, "Clearly you never met my dad."

"No. But it's on my to-do list if this timeline doesn't pan out." The girl poked at a pile of greasy rags with the toe of her boot as she spoke.

"You come near him and I'll stick you myself." Dean laid it out plainly, pushing off from the wall as Nate rolled her eyes at him.

"I have no intention or desire to go _near_ him, Dean..."

"Then why, huh? Why this obsession with my family?" Dean took a step forward, frustration rolling him in waves, "I mean I get it, we screwed up in times past, but that's fixed now..."

Nate's eyebrows shot up, "Is it?"

"I had to watch my little brother take a nosedive into the Bottomless Pit, for Chrissakes!" Dean thundered in sudden exasperation, "So yes, I'd say it's over!"

"It isn't." Nate seemed almost repulsed at the simplicity of Dean's outtake on the circumstances, "You may have put the devil back in his cage, but you woke a buttload of sleeping dogs in the process and now they're howling at the poisoned moon, so welcome to a bird's eye view!"

"Yeah well I'd like to take your word for it, kid, but you're not exactly proving your transparancy by making pacts with _Meg_!" Dean was a few feet from her now, his anger beginning to show as he glared down at Nate and ignored the jutting of her chin.

"Well neither are _you_ if you're only taking the word of the archangel you're sending in to spy on me!" Nate leant back on her heels and crossed her arms insistently, and Dean swallowed back the retort he'd had poised at the edge of his teeth. Winters had a point.

"You're not the only one who knows when they're being watched." Nate lowered her voice quietly, "I'm taking Meg down. I just need her to trust me first."

"Right, so you're playing her?" Dean almost felt pity for the young girl standing before him. Such determination - and yet she was alone against a very cruel and clever world. "Lemme tell you this right out, sweetheart, Meg's a demon. Her father practically _invented_ lying."

"Which is why she's going along so nicely with all my leads." Nate raised her eyebrows, "She thinks she's playing me as well."

Dean narrowed his eyes. Perhaps this kid was even crazier then he had originally thought. "Playing you for _what_?"

"A few things." Nate shrugged and walked slowly towards the Impala, her eyes casually admiring its brilliance, "Oplexicon, mainly. She wants to make an ally of him, is my best guess. Though of course I could be wrong and she could want to take him out."

"An archdemon?" Dean's brow rose sceptically, and Nate turned to him with another shrug.

"I know. Lotsa luck. Anyway, the other thing she's really after is that book you guys have got. Whatever's in there, Meg wants it bad."

"Yeah well," Dean reached for the grimy-looking icebox in the corner of the garage and popped it open, "thankfully that's one bargaining chip that Sam and I are keeping first dibs on."

"Guess again." Nate's words caused the hunter to glance sharply upwards from his beer, and he watched as she reached into the Bohemian-looking satchel hanging off her shoulder and produced the object in question.

Dean stiffened and rose to his full height, "How'd you get that?"

Nate smiled hollowly, "Switch 'how' for 'when' and I think you get the picture." She tucked it safely away once more, "Relax. It's from the future. And then there were two?"

"It's not funny. That book is frigging dangerous." Dean scolded tersely and she seemed highly amused at the concept.

"Who made you Constable Winchester? I must've missed the ceremony."

"You got a smart mouth, kid, but it ain't enough to keep you outta firing range." Dean smirked coldly at the girl, and she shrugged yet again.

"Well I don't _need_ it to. I just need it get me through the next six months."

A loud clang sounded on the roof of the garage and caused both Dean and Nate to throw their heads up sharply. The veiled fear flashed across Nate's features once again, surprising Dean with its somehow familiar surge.

Where had he seen it before?

"What is it?" She whispered.

"Shh." Dean hushed her and used one free hand to push the girl behind him slightly, pulling out his handgun with the other and glancing up at the roof.

Nate swallowed furtively, her jaw locked with determination although her eyes were still tight with worry as she backed into a corner and produced a beat-up looking .44 from her satchel. Dean eyed it critically.

"Do you know how to use that thing?"

For once, the sarcastic front was dropped as she gave him an honest assessment, "Point it and shoot?"

He nodded. "Very reassuring."

The clanging was inside now, a clattering as a lone wrench fell off the shelf and cracked at the ground with alacrity. Dean's gun was trained on the shelving in an instant, and a scuffling behind one of the large cardboard boxes had him kicking it aside without a moment's hesitation. An animalistic shriek sounded and Dean was almost knocked to the ground by a giant possum that clawed him viciously and ran screaming for the nearest available hiding place.

Nate's fear quickly switched to amusement as she watched Dean go after the little critter, snagging it by its tail as it attempted to scuttle under the Impala and tossing it into a gunnysack he evidently kept for such purposes.

"Goddamn rodents." Dean muttered at the twitching, writhing bag in his hand, and Nate seemed to be working up courage to approach the wriggling gunnysack with mounting curiosity.

"Wow. They really were a lot less threatening before they got loaded with Croatoan, huh."

"Damn pains in the ass." Dean was still complaining, but her remark had him looking up sharply, "Even the animals? Really?"

Nate nodded mournfully, "No more Fidos and Figaros. Just...man-eating alleycats."

"Huh." Dean pondered the implications of her statement before dodging a wild swing from the bagged possum, "Stay here. Don't touch anything." He made for the side garage door, and Nate frowned.

"Are you gonna shoot it?"

Dean's eyes rolled as he turned the door handle. Why was he always the bad guy? Sam had always pleaded without fail for the lives for every filthy, disease-ridden scavenger they'd ever come across. The few times Dean had given in to his brother's demands, he'd ended up with twice as many rodents on his hands.

"Don't _kill_ it!" Nate sounded mortified, "Just, you know, throw it outside or something!"

"What, so it can round up the possy and come back to trash the whole neighbourhood?" Dean scoffed, "No thanks, I think I'll pass."

"Murderer." Nate coughed the word into her fist, and Dean flipped her the bird over his shoulder as he traipsed unapologetically out of the garage without another word.

* * *

Dean was still shaking his head as he locked the door behind him, tucking away his keys and pulling an empty recycling bin from its position in line. He knotted the end of the sack tightly and tossed it into the garbage can, then cocked his gun and took aim.

"Another possum infestation?"

Dean jumped and closed his eyes in annoyance as he turned around to face Sam.

"You know I swear, between you and Cas it's gettin' to be a little too much for my ticker to handle."

Sam smiled apologetically, "Sorry."

Sam's somewhat ethereal state of being was still a sensitive point for his older brother. When the younger Winchester had been resurrected, it had apparently not been without its perks. Sam's powers from Azazel still remained dormant as long as he refrained from demon blood. But whatever the reason for his sudden intervention, God had felt the need to add some unique abilities of His own to Sam Winchester's paranormal repertoire.

Such as certain unconventional transportation methods, for one thing.

"Whatever. Just don't let Ben or Lisa see you doin' that." Dean ordered in an effort to return the conversation to a slightly less celestial bent - by bossing Sam, who never failed to react snippily to such treatment.

"Is she in there?" Not this time, however. Sam had his own topic in mind.

Dean frowned, "Is who in where?"

Sam flashed him a tight expression, and the older brother finally sighed.

"Yeah. She's holing up, something's after her."

"It should be us."

The cold statement from his normally sanguine little brother had Dean eyeing him critically, "Sammy, we can't just gank her."

"No, but we can't just _trust_ her either, Dean." Sam spread his long arms, "So maybe she's not a demon, but she's doing business with them. I mean, what more do you want?"

"I don't know, alright, but we are _not_ gonna go Guantanamo Bay on some seventeen year old _kid_, end of story!" Dean barked, and Sam shook his head in disbelief.

"What happened to you? A couple years ago, you would've pulled out the thumbscrews the _second_ you found out she was making pacts with Meg!"

"She's gaining Meg's trust so we can take her down, Sam. You wanna get your hands dirty with another demon deal?" Dean slammed the lid of the garbage can shut, "Nate's got a bird's eye view on this..."

"Those your words or hers?" Sam had toned down the righteous anger at least, his manner returning to quiet and somewhat subdued, though there was still a flicker of mistrust burning in his hazel eyes.

Dean gave him a cold look, "You really think she'd be within a ten mile radius of my house, of Lisa and Ben, if I didn't think she was legit?"

"It's your thinking she's _legit_ that's my _problem_ right now, Dean." Sam sighed and ran a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck, "I just...there's something about her...I dunno."

"It's upsetting you." Dean stated it as a fact rather than a query, and Sam's eyes darted up nervously.

"I didn't say that."

"No, but _I_ did." His older brother slammed a hand down on the lid of the garbage bin as the trapped and vicious possum made a mad scramble for freedom, "You've been antsy since Bobby's. Wanna let me know what's on your mind?"

"Not really." Sam admitted as he tucked his pockets in and kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot. Dean waited.

"It's just..." Sam didn't take long this time as his worries spilled to the fore, "I feel like I know her, you know, from somewhere. Like from..." He paused and then smirked at the unfinished portion of his sentence, "Forget it."

"From what, Sammy?" Dean raised his eyebrows and pushed his little brother to continue with his unsatisfied silence. Persistence paid off after a moment or two.

"Like from another life." Sam finally murmured, his eyes avoiding Dean's as he swallowed.

Dean was silent for a moment as he considered his response before he gave it, "What, you mean like, reincarnation..."

"No." Sam was quick to crush the theory before the word had even fully left Dean's mouth.

"Well what then?"

"I don't know." Sam confessed, frustration beginning to conquer his mood as he tugged at his hair once more, "I wish I understood it. Hell, I wish Cas would tell us what he knows - I mean, he did read her mind before it became Staff Only."

"You think he knows something he's not telling us?" Dean frowned at the notion. The Winchesters had made a pact upon the recommencement of their hunting - no more secrets. Unspoken truths had torn their relationship to shreds time and time again, and Sam and Dean were done with them. Castiel had thought the agreement to be a thing of honour and had entered in at his own volition...a plus for the Winchesters, as Cas was now playing Sheriff in the hallowed halls and was privy to a great deal of information.

Sam pulled in his lips and tilted his head before responding to his brother's question, "I think he might." His eyes met Dean's soberly as he spoke.

"Your supposition would be accurate."

Sam and Dean exchanged heavy sighs before the former turned to face Castiel as the angel appeared, his token beige trench coat blowing in the cold winter wind.

"I'm sorry that I must keep it from you," The angel's gravely voice was tinged with apology, "But it is for your own protection."

"How exactly are we protected?" Dean queried, just a hint of anger in his otherwise merely displeased tone, "I've got Marty McFly's estrongenated twin in there," He stabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the garage, "You're telling me I've gotta help her without knowing jack squat about who she really is?"

"You _know_ who she is." Castiel protested languidly.

"Do I?" Dean raised his eyebrows and began the slow, steady advance that closed the distance between him and the angel, "Nate lied about her last name right off bat, that it was Waters instead of Winters, and when you cornered her, she said something about plausible deniability. What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know." Castiel responded, and here Sam interjected with a scoff.

"Yeah right."

"It's true." Cas flashed the younger Winchester a reproving look, "I caught only a glimpse of what I suspect before her mind was closed to me, and Nate has since gone a step further to hide her activities from Heaven's eyes."

"Lemme guess," Dean offered in a surly manner, "Enochian rib carvings."

"Only an angel is powerful enough for that, and I assure you that none of the angels in Heaven would ever commit such an act without authorization." Castiel narrowed his eyes at the garbage bin as it clattered nosiily to and fro once more, and a puzzled moment of silence was followed by his continuation, "There is only one explanation. Oplexicon must be more powerful then we thought."

"Or you got a disgruntled former employee runnin' around." Dean quipped, and Castiel cast him a dry stare.

"Exactly what category do you think Oplexicon falls under if not the one to which you just reffered?"

Dean sucked at his cheeks in defeat, and Sam took up the torch.

"Okay look, just...tell us where to find Meg's base of operations. We'll take it from there."

"It's an abandoned house just outside of Wyoming. I can take you there now if that's what you want."

"Great. Let's go." Sam agreed without a moment's hesitation.

"But it's not what I'd suggest." Castiel finished his sentiment and ignored the icy cold glare Sam sent his way.

"Why the hell not?" The younger Winchester demanded.

"Because she's waiting for you to do exactly that." Nate Winters had appeared on the scene, her breath billowing out in puffs in front of her face flushed with cold.

Nate returned the frigid stare Sam sent her way before addressing Dean.

"Meg knows you're onto her. Wyoming's a trap."

"Yeah?" Sam squinted at her mordantly, "I wonder who clued her in."

"Sam." Dean's reproof fell on deaf ears. Sam was otherwise occupied with Nate's rebuttal as the girl took an injured step closer.

"I didn't tell Meg anything. Someone got to her..."

"What, before you did?" Sam smirked sardonically, "You must be so disappointed."

"She knew I was here." Nate raised her eyebrows insistently, and Dean and Cas caught each others eyes before the latter dropped his own suspiciously, "She knew why and how, she knows _everything_!"

"Great, so what d'you suggest we do?" Dean took the conversation by the reins once more, stepping slightly forward of Sam, who would have reduced Nate to a puddle of melted flesh by now if looks could kill.

"_We're_ not doing anything." Nate stated, "I've got Meg right where I want her - she'll bring me in on things soon enough. What _you_ guys need to do is find out who's trying to throw a wrench in the works."

Sam scoffed at the absurdity of the suggestion, "Right, and leave you to deal with Meg? Forget it."

"What choice do you have?" Nate fairly hissed, her teeth grit together and her jaw clenched as it jutted up at Sam, "Meg's burrowing in deeper every second that goes by. You'll never find her, not without my help."

"Alright, enough." Dean cut in as he saw Ben's bedroom light flick on, "We'll trust you," He pointed a finger at Nate.

"Dean!" Sam protested.

"For _now_." Dean's assurance was much for Sam as it was for Castiel, who looked ready to unleash a torrent of wrath on the head of the enigmatic girl in Dean's driveway, "But you work with Cas."

"Are you kidding me?" Nate spread her arms wide in disbelief, "How'm I supposed cosy up to Meg with an _angel_ on my shoulder? Especially one who, no offence intended, wouldn't know Adidas from Puma!"

"A puma is a wild, mountain dwelling creature in the cat family." Castiel responded haughtily, "I'm not familiar with an Adidas."

Nate flashed Dean a meaningful eyebrow-raise, and he scowled.

"So he's not so great with brand names. You seem to think you've got enough street smart going on - between the two of you, I'm sure you'll be just fine."

"This isn't happening." She fumed under her breath, and Castiel, though appearing none to pleased with his assigned partner, seemed willing to do Dean yet another favour.

"Read it and weep, kid." Dean slapped Nate's arm, "I gotta get back before Lisa comes in on her white charger." He nodded at his brother and patted Castiel's shoulder before heading into the house at the sound of Lisa's voice at the doorstep.

The three remaining entertained a moment of heavy, tense silence - broken, at last, by Castiel's dictatorial throat-clearing.

"Hold still." He turned to Nate, and she jumped a full three feet back as the angel began to raise two fingers.

"Point those things someplace else, pal!"

"If we're to work together, I'll need to be able to locate you." Castiel reasoned staunchly, and she scowled.

"So buy a pager."

"Watch your mouth." Sam warned cooly, and Nate tilted her head to grace him with a deadpan glare before turning back to Castiel as the angel made another step towards her.

"You're hidden from Heaven's eyes. How exactly did you accomplish that?"

"I upgraded my package deal." Nate crossed her arms with a raise of her eyebrow, "Wanted a little privacy. And before you ask, my ribs are clean as a whistle - plus or minus a few cracks. It's a hard knock life."

"Is it reversible, this...cloaking of yours?" Castiel seemed baffled at this point, though nonetheless irked by Nate Winters' irritating manner.

"Nope." She smiled a toothy grin of triumph which both Castiel and Sam would have loved to smack right off her face. Thankfully, they were both well-versed in the art of self-control. The desire never even made it past a fleeting moment of fancy.

Castiel seemed highly annoyed - the slight tick in his right eye was a teller for Sam, at least, who know the angel well. However, Castiel maintained an otherwise neutral exterior as he reach into his trench coat pocket and produced a cell phone. Nate bit her lip in a poor attempt to stifle amusement.

"You serious?"

Castiel flipped the phone open while flashing the girl a look that suggested no room for argument, "What's your number?"

Nate shook her head at the ground before unzipping the pocket of her leather jacket and retrieving a well-folded, tattered slip of paper. She handed it to Castiel with all the exuberance of a martyr.

He took it from her between his index and middle finger as though it was contaminated, "Thank you."

She smiled acidly but made no further response.

"I'll be in touch." Castiel vanished without further comment on the issue, leaving Sam and Nate alone amongst the recycling bins of Dean and Lisa's urban household.

"So, let's hear it." Sam prodded after a minute, and Nate frowned.

"Hear what?"

"How I screw things up again?" Sam suggested, and for a moment his face appeared almost sad, "Why you hate me so much?"

Nate leant back against the wall of the garage and tucked her hands into her pockets, "Who says I hate you?"

Sam laughed sardonically, "I think you've made it pretty damn obvious."

She shrugged contemplatively, "Maybe it's personal?" There was silence before she continued, "You don't screw things up again, Sam. Life just rots away after a while. Shit happens."

"Okay, so why come to _us_ for help?" Sam pressed, "If we're not involved..."

"I didn't say you weren't involved." The girl folded her arms and shifted her shoulders against the cold brick of the wall, "You and Dean take a swing at Meg six months from now. I just wanted you to be ready - because so far future has it that Meg comes out on top."

Sam nodded, silently digesting the information. The possum screamed and rattled the garbage can. A street light above Sam's head flickered, and Nate glanced up at it sharply.

"Are _you_ doing that?"

Sam followed her eyes to the light, and it instantly burned steady once more. He watched it do so pensively.

"Yeah I guess so."

Nate cocked her head, eyebrows gathered slightly as Sam continued to stare at the street light.

"What are you?" She almost whispered the words, confusion brimming in her tone. The animosity she so stoically manifested was momentarily absent.

Sam studied the ever-present reminder of his paranormalcy with eyes filled with grief.

"I wish I knew."

Nate pulled her lips in and said nothing in response. Another rattle from the can snapped them both to reality once more - and to their mutual distrust.

"Like it or not, Dean's white picket fences aren't going to keep the bad guys out forever." Nate pushed off from the wall, her arms remaining crossed as she raised her eyebrows at the hunter dwarfing her with his shadow, "Meg's out to win this round, and she's gonna stay out of your way in the process. Hindsight's twenty-twenty; I've _got_ it."

"Maybe so." Sam slammed a hand on the lid of the garbage can, his face cold and deadly as he spoke, "But just so we're clear? Dean may trust you, but I still have my doubts."

"No one's perfect." Nate reasoned, but her shoulders stiffened as Sam's hand disappeared into his jacket and emerged with a handgun only a second later, "What're you gonna do with that, Sam?"

He opened the lid of the garbage can and held it steady with one hand as the deadly possum shrieked and kicked at its base, "You know people always said I was the passive one?" Sam's eyes danced as he held the girl in his gaze, "That's changed."

Nate's jaw was still clenched in anticipation of an attack. Sam flicked off the safety of his gun.

"If you endanger my family, for whatever reason..." He fired the shot, and the garbage can ceased to move without further notice.

Nate's chest was heaving with her barely contained anger as Sam loomed over her.

"I'll kill you myself."

The wordless minute that followed was vicious, intense.

Nate Winters swallowed and then regained her composure, her lips spreading with a benign smile that belied the murky greyness of her eyes.

"I think I get the picture."

Sam Winchester made no attempt to return the smile.

"Good."

The street light flickered once more, this time violently, and then burned out.

The alleyway was quiet once more, save for the noise of the cicadas.

Sam and Nate were both elsewhere.


	5. Chapter 5

_Decided to just plunk it all into one giant read instead of seperate books. I'll keep the names of the 'episodes' in, though. I kinda like'em :). Enjoy._

_- Tyler_

_

* * *

_

_Great Falls, Montana:_

The forest was thick with the sounds of nature heralding the dawn. Thick frost covered the leaves that blanketed the ground, cracking and snapping under the dainty, blood-stained boots that trod them underfoot. Meg Masters glanced cautiously over her shoulder as she sauntered through the trees, her chestnut hair flipping across her delicate face as she whirled around at the sound of a twig breaking. Her head tilted and her mouth hung open ever so slightly as she turned to face the cougar that was slowly approaching. The beast paused and its haunches rippled in anticipation of the attack it was about to spring on the small woman.

Meg smiled broadly, "Hey there, kitty." Her eyes flashed a pale, menacing shade of yellow as she raised her eyebrows, "Wanna play?"

A mewling whimper sounded from the animal, and Meg's smile remained as she watched the cougar scurry out of her sight, in fear of its life. Meg continued on her way.

Even a fearless beast of prey knew better than to cross a demon.

She came to a derelict ruin of a wall and traced her fingers along the vines shrouding its bricking, eyeing her fingertips with a frown. Meg glanced once more around her to ensure her solitude before crouching down and placing her hand atop a sliver of rusted metal that poked its face out from amongst the frosty leaves.

Meg whispered a choice set of words in an unknown language of the deep, and a hatch sprung open in response. She descended a set of narrow wooden steps and the hatch clamped shut after her.

"I thought I smelt _roadkill_." Meg queried as she skipped the last few steps and hopped gracefully to the floor. The warm light of oil lamps illuminated her pale, striking features as she raised an eyebrow at the intruder before her, "Heard you moved your business to the freeway. Pickings slim these days?"

"You know, you'd think..." The voice was British and bore an aristocratic rasp. Crowley caught himself midsentence, "Oh wait. No you wouldn't - you can't. Forgive my lack of discretion."

"What do you want, Crowley?" Meg snarled the name contemptuously, "You here to rat me out to those scum you call the Winchesters?"

"Now why would I do _that_," Crowley leaned back against one of the thick wooden beams supporting the rafters of the Meg's underground lair, "When I'm here to help you take them down?"

Meg narrowed her eyes and curled the left side of her lips into a thin smile.

Crowley followed suit.

* * *

SUPERNATURAL

"Three's A Crowd."

_Cicero, Indiana:_

The grass was long and billowed in a soft breeze. The orange glow of the rising sun crept over endless golden hills - wheat fields, Sam thought absently. Warmth surrounded him, and light - a welcoming, friendly presence seemed to whisper in the air around him as he stood and watched the sunrise chase away the stars that still clung to the horizon.

Sam inhaled deeply of the fresh air and felt peace settle his troubled thoughts for a moment he hoped would never end.

"Sam."

The whispers were growing louder now, more tangible. Sam turned at the sound and felt his heart quicken. She was so beautiful, her golden ringlets dancing in the playful fingers of the wind. Jessica's smile always reached her deep brown eyes. It always took Sam's breath away.

"Sam." She extended a hand to him, half poised to walk into the glorious light of the sunrise. "Come with me." Her dress was white and sheer and rippled in the breeze.

"Where?" He wished it didn't matter. But it did.

Jess' smile seemed to reprove him, "Does it matter?"

She had always known him better then Sam had known himself.

"Yes." Sam felt the heaviness returning ever so slowly, "Dean needs me here."

"He won't always."

The sadness in Jess' eyes was too much for Sam. He averted his gaze and closed his eyes, attempting to regain control.

"Then again, it was always about _Dean_." Her voice had morphed suddenly, grown deeper and more gravelly - harsher. And familiar.

"Wasn't it, Sam?"

Sam glanced up sharply and then narrowed his eyes at the woman standing before him. It was no longer Jessica. This woman was tall and thin, almost rake-like in appearance. Her peroxide-blonde hair fell from a messy knot tied atop her head and hung in her pale gray eyes - eyes that were cold with bitterness and red with tears that had smudged her thick eyeliner and streaked it down her face.

Sam squinted as he took a step closer to the woman, "I know you. Who are you?"

"Trust you to not even remember my _name_." Her chest heaved with anger, breastbone jutting harshly out of her flasely-tanned flesh, "I loved you, Sam."

Sam was completely bewildered, and remained speechless as she continued to rant.

"And you threw me away. _Everybody_ throws me away!" She laughed through her sobs as she shook her head at Sam, "But now? At least accountability is knocking at your door!"

"What are you talking about?" Sam demanded. The sun had grown cold, and the pleasant breeze was now a howling wind that whipped and lashed at his skin.

The woman raised her eyebrows as she began to regain her composure, "Not this time, Sam. This time _you_ figure it out. You were always so good with numbers."

The wind grew stronger, more fierce. It drowned out the woman's angry sentiments and stung Sam's eyes with cold. Something flew at him and stuck in the grass at his feet. Sam reached down and snatched it in his large hand, his face a picture of mystified confusion as he straightened and examined the worn, fraying wrist band.

It was made of what Bobby often called 'Holy Cloth' - silk embroidered with symbols of protection and charms. It had a tiny brown stain next to the knot.

Geri.

Sam's mind flashed back through time, to images of himself at sixteen years of age.

_The dimples in his cheeks as he laughed alongside Geri - the bright, beautiful girl with whom he had convinced himself he was in love. Her white teeth under her full, copper-colored lips - her thin, almost frail-looking wrist clutched in Sam's relatively inexperienced fingers. _

_"For good luck." He had made light of the bracelet, as had she. _

_"I don't believe in luck."_

The angry storm clustering around Sam rose up into a whirlwind, yanking the bracelet out of his grip and sending him flying off his feet.

Sam's eyes opened with a start.

The dawn had broken through the thick winter clouds massing in the sky and filled Sam's sparsely-decorated bedroom with its temporary cheer. The portable heater in the corner of the room was pumping at full power and the air was relatively pleasant with warmth. But Sam felt cold and sick. He sat up and tossed the blankets off his legs, leaning forward and running both hands through his tangled hair.

Even after he had dressed and called Dean to let him know that he was on his way over to pick up Ben, Sam still felt the dream's effect hanging over him like a blanket of doom. His stomach was in knots and eating didn't feel like an option. But Ben would be looking forward to breakfast at the diner local to Sam's apartment, and Sam rarely found it in him to refuse his adopted nephew their traditional weekend routine.

Christ, was it already the weekend? It had been one week since Nate Winters had shown up in their lives and thrown everything askew. One week since Dean and Sam had seen or heard any news from either her or her unfortunate accomplice - Castiel.

It was driving Sam up the wall.

* * *

Dean had already left for the garage by the time Sam pulled his car up into the driveway of his brother's home. The Impala was nowhere to be seen, but Ben was sitting on the porch's front steps, his rucksack stuffed to the brim beside him and his converse shoes tapping in anticipation - not impatience - as he watched Sam arrive.

"Guess I'm not gonna bother asking if you're ready." Sam smiled as Ben bounded down the steps and slung his bag over his shoulder, "Lisa in?"

"Mom had to go into work cuz something came up. Can we please eat? I'm starving."

"Sure. Hop in." Sam patted the passenger seat as Ben slid inside and tossed his rucksack onto the back seat, "Seatbelt."

"It's ten blocks." Ben hated the confinement of a strap across his chest. To be fair, neither Sam nor Dean ever wore seatbelts. Unless they drove with Ben, of course.

"And your point would be?" Sam was hardly moved by Ben's argument for freedom, and the boy rolled his eyes while making a tortured show of clasping the belt into place.

Sam laughed aloud at the dramatics as he pulled the car out of the driveway, and Ben's eyes seemed to light up noticeably. He and Dean may not have shared the same genetic code but they were alike in many other ways - notably, regarding the manner in which Sam's happiness brought them an abundance of the same.

"So I've been thinking," Ben's legs were long and awkward and he adjusted his seat to bring it back alongside Sam's, "about the weekend."

"What about it?" Sam grimaced at an overhead traffic light that scrambled to turn red precisely as he met it. The streets were packed for a Saturday. Post-Halloween sales, he supposed.

"What if we went up to Mom's cabin in Tahoe?" Ben seized the pause in driving to reach behind the seat and snatch up his rucksack into his lap.

Sam pulled into the fast lane and bit back a curse as a middle-aged woman driving a hot pink Ferrari cut him off in a dangerous swerve. Crazy women drivers.

"What's in Tahoe?"

"Mother Nature." Ben stated as though it were obvious, "You know, all that water, trees, fresh air. Great for the complexion - no offence, Uncle Sam, but you're looking a little washed out these days."

"Uh huh." Sam absently remarked, reigning in his engine slightly to switch lanes once more before pulling a fast one on the pink Ferrari and cutting her promptly off in an overtake. Served the road hog right.

"Nice one." Ben praised the manoeuvre eagerly, flashing a smile at the woman who flipped them the bird and honked her horn as they put her in their rearview mirror.

Sam was still embedded deep in the throes of poignancy after they had found a table at the diner and placed their orders.

Ben dumped his rucksack on the ground and scooted it under his chair. Sam had pulled out his laptop and was already clacking away. Ben frowned at the forbidden item stealing his 'uncle's' attention and cleared his throat loudly, "Anyway, what do you think?"

"What do I think about _what_?" Sam was engrossed in his research and barely glanced up as the waitress placed his short stack and coffee in front of him.

"My new tattoo!" Ben snapped, frustration at being ignored finally overcoming the normally unruffled teenager, "You know, the one of the laptop with a light sabre frying its motherboard?"

Sam had the good sense to smirk as he took a sip of his coffee, "Is that a threat?"

Ben smiled at finally being able to capture the man's attention, "I don't have a light sabre." He shook generous amounts of salt onto his large serving of French fries and shoved a straw into his beverage of choice. Sam raised a repulsed eyebrow.

"The hell is that?"

"What, this?" Ben was using his straw to stir the white, brown and grey concoction, "It's an Oreo frappe!"

"You ordered _coffee_?" Sam's tone simmered with disapproval, and Ben hastened to his defence.

"It's really more like...chocolate milk."

"Nice try." Sam crushed his attempts as he removed the drink from Ben's desperate fingers, "Your mom would kill me."

"She'd kill _me_, you mean - Mom worships the ground you walk on." Ben complained in a mutter as Sam waved the waitress over while rolling his eyes at his young charge.

"Just...order something else."

"Okay, what's up?"

Sam returned to his keyboard as he pondered the question, "What do you mean?"

"I _mean_, why are you breaking your own rule and looking up a hunt," Ben emphasized the word with a mixture of undue reverence and irritation, "when we're meant to be hanging out?"

Sam paused with a sigh and pushed his laptop lid closed, "I'm not looking up a hunt."

The boy across from him raised his eyebrows sceptically as he perused the menu, "Well it sure _looks_ like it."

Sam bit his lip impatiently, "Have you ever met someone and coulda _sworn_ you knew them from somewhere?"

The boy paused with a mouthful of fries, "Uncle Sam, are you hitting on me?"

Sam's smile was more revolted than amused, "I'll take that as a no."

Ben shrugged carelessly and returned to his food, "Why? You trying to remember some chick or something?"

Sam cleared his throat and picked up his coffee, "So why the sudden interest in Tahoe? I remember your mom and Dean had to practically twist your arm into going there last summer."

"Yeah well this is different." Ben was still too young to pick up on intentional subject changes from an adult. Had it been Dean or Bobby or even Lisa, they would have at least acknowledged the attempt at steering clear of a topic, "I mean, who wants to spend all summer cooped up in a log cabin with their _parents_?"

"Clearly not _you_." Sam admitted as he gulped back his coffee. He and Dean would have killed for such an opportunity. But it had never been theirs - and never would be, either. Sam couldn't blame Ben for being a normal adolescent.

"I thought we could hit the town, check out some sights." Ben had finished his fries now and was carefully unwrapping his burger, "Apparently tourism's gone down recently and so have the prices."

"Tourism's gone down?" Sam raised his eyebrows, "In _Tahoe_."

"Something to do with animal deaths. I don't know. They're saying it's foot and mouth disease or something." Ben's noncommittal response might have fooled an unsuspecting civilian, but it didn't fool Sam. The hunter was quiet for a minute before he leant both elbows on the table and clasped his hands together, leaning forward and holding Ben's eyes.

"Animal _deaths_ being code for animal _mutilation_?"

Ben frowned, though his cheeks flushed a pale red at having been caught out in a lie, "I have no idea..."

Sam held Ben's gaze long enough for the boy to break away, face burning.

"It was worth a shot." He muttered, and Sam exhaled a long sigh as he leant back against his seat.

"You know it's not a _career_ choice, Ben."

"It's a _lifestyle_. I know - I get the same speech _every_ single time." The youth seemed highly aggravated by the fact as he tossed down his fork.

"Well maybe you should start _listening_." Sam fought to remain patient. It was always a touchy subject for him and Dean - Ben and hunting. And they'd thought the Supernatural fan convention had already taken touchy to its ultimate peak.

"Maybe I should start listening?" Ben's eyebrows rose, along with his tone, "Look in the mirror, Sam. You and Dean keep acting like its your decision, but if I decide I want it bad enough, I can hunt without you knowing a single thing about it!"

Sam opened his mouth to spew forth a menacing response, but thankfully managed to curtail it in time. Ben's momentary loss of self-control was more or less over, though the embers were still smouldering his eyes as he returned them to his food.

"You know what, just forget it."

"Tahoe or the hunt?" Sam's eyes involuntarily trailed to window pane as he felt a sudden sensation of being watched. It was a familiar feeling.

"Both, I guess, since you're obviously now gonna be on red alert if I wanna go _anywhere_ alone." Ben was sulking, but he would get over it. He always got over it.

Sam caught sight of her then - he imagined it was intentional. A young, slim girl sporting a worn leather jacket and dark grey jeans, her dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail that dangled between her shoulder blades. She was standing just to the left of the diner window, and though her grey eyes never linked with Sam's, he somehow knew she was expecting him.

Nate Winters had come out of hiding.

"Uh, could you..." Sam pushed away from the table apologetically and Ben pretended to ignore it, "excuse me for a sec?"

Ben stuffed a large bite of hamburger into his mouth, then proceeded to speak through it, "Uh huh."

The diner door chimed irritatingly as Sam stepped through it, glancing around before stalking towards to the girl leaning against the wall. She pointedly made no attempt at eye contact as she addressed him.

"Any leads on who's giving Meg the heads up?"

Sam sighed heavily and forced himself to remain civil at the blatant discourteousness, "We're working on it."

"Well work on it _faster_." Nate glared up at him, "If we don't find out where she's getting her information..."

"You know what, give me _one_ good reason why we should help you." Sam found that his patience reserves seemed to deplete extra quickly around Nate Winters for some reason. It was destabilizing to be returned to the rash impetuosity he only ever unleashed when arguing with Dean, "You've done nothing but make demands since the second you showed up, and honestly, I'm not really seeing a carrot here."

"If we don't stop this thing while its a baby threat, it's going to grow up into one mean mother, and in case you're wondering? That's bad _fucking_ news, Sam!"

"Alright - prove it." Sam nodded at her, and she flashed him an incredulous squint.

"How? By pulling back the tarp on my DeLorean and taking you for a little spin to 2020?" Nate snagged his arm as he turned to leave, "Hey!"

"What?" Sam demanded icily, and she sighed in surrender.

"Dean bites the dust."

Sam cocked his head," Come again?" A cold sensation twisted in his abs. He hoped he'd understood her wrong.

Nate looked up at him wearily. Evidently the news brought her no satisfaction whatsoever. "When you go to tackle Meg, she takes him out. Dean was history long before I made the time jump. I just wanted to stop it."

Sam scrubbed a hand across his hairline and did his best to assimilate the information. His jaw locked and he brushed feelings of panic swiftly aside. Dean was still alive, and they could beat this - like every other time.

"If we can take Meg down six months from now, everything will be different." Nate's voice rang with a quiet hope now, as well as a touch of sympathy as she relinquished her hold on Sam's thick arm, "No virus, no World War Three. Dean's not the only person we'll be saving if we pull this off."

Sam dipped his head to meet the young girl's eyes, "What's the plan?"

* * *

"So..." Meg placed the bottle of red label she'd been knocking back on the table beside her propped-up boots before leaning back in her chair once more, "Crowley."

The crossroads demon was sniffing his liquor with great disdain manifest on his features, "Don't wear the name out, love."

"What if I'm _screaming_ it?" Meg's smile was anything but demure, and the aristocratic man across from her rolled his eyes.

"This is strictly business, darling. I'm in it for the mere satisfaction of instigating the Winchester's downfall. Nothing more," Crowley set his glass down and raised his eyebrows at Meg, "Nothing less."

Meg's jaw moved every so slightly to the side, "Regular chip off the old block, aren't we now?"

"Not _your_ block." He stated with lackadaisical contempt ringing in his raspy tone, "Azazel was what you might call a...college rival. There was a little animosity, if the truth be told."

Meg's glare was icy, "Same company, different branch." She leant forward, removing her boots from the table, "Though not since you put our _CEO_ in a pit. You're first on the blacklist after those scum you call the Winchesters."

"Five years of being Hell's Most Wanted and yet here I am, alive and well." Crowley toasted her with malevolent confidence, "Catch me if you can." He maintained eye contact while downing a swig of his drink.

"Sure thing." Meg smirked with a raise of her eyebrow, and Crowley glanced up at the three heavy-set men with black, gleaming eyes who suddenly emerged from the shadows of the underground lair.

"I'm guessing those aren't your butlers."

"You _really_ thought you could just come in from the cold." Meg sounded almost fascinated by the concept, though cold anger was at the forefront of her tone, "After you helped those _bastards_ trap our father!" Her voice rose as she uttered the last sentence, and a lightbulb burst above her head.

Silence reigned for a moment - before Crowley broke it with slow, mellow applause.

"A moving rendition of Hell Hath No Fury." The demon nodded, "Really - I'm impressed. So are the goons, I reckon. After all..." A slight smile played at the corners of his lips, "The show's all for _them_, isn't it?"

"You're crazy." Meg uttered the words quietly, but the fury crackled in her voice like a lightening storm, "Take him."

The demons stepped forward, hands ready to snatch Crowley and hurl him to eternal torment.

"Belay that, boys." The crossroads demon didn't spare a glance over his shoulder. He knew they had already stopped, "That's right." Crowley leant forward to address Meg, "It's the same every time, isn't it? You're too fucking scared."

Meg's lips were baring her gleaming white teeth as he continued.

"You don't know whose side I'm on these days - but you're hoping it's not the archangels. Oh they've got a whole lot of wrath - haven't they now?"

"You're despicable." Meg snarled, and Crowley smiled.

"Maybe. But on the other hand," He raised his glass, "You need me. Because like it or not, you know the Winchesters trust me. You need the inside scoop."

"I have my own sources." She smiled acidly, and Crowley's brow arched.

"What? That angst-ridden teenager in bootcuts? Be my guest - sidle up to Winters." He shook his head ever so slightly, "She can't help you - not with the here and now, at any rate. The Winchesters trust that girl even less then they trust _me_."

"That's not much, so I'm told." Meg poured herself a glass of whiskey and set the bottle down as Crowley responded.

"The Winchesters' list of trusted associates is shorter then the Somalian cookbook. I'm in the top twenty - that should be good enough for you."

Meg's eyes flared a mellow shade of yellow, "Don't ever assume to what's good enough for me, you black-eyed son of a whore."

Crowley snorted softly, "What has Winters told you about her involvement with the Winchesters?"

Meg glanced up at her entourage of demons. They retreated to the shadows without a word spoken.

The alpha female demon leant back in her chair and swivelled the whiskey in her glass in smooth figures of eight, "They think she's here to take me out. Apparently my efforts in the 'here and now' meet with success." She raised her glass at Crowley, "Here's to a sure thing." She downed the shot and emptied her glass with a toss of her head.

"Congratulations." Crowley remained unabashedly sceptical, "Of course there is one tiny little problem."

Meg narrowed her eyes sardonically, "And what would that be, Crowley?"

"Winters _is_ here to take you out." The crossroads demon leant forward with a severe raise of his eyebrows, "She's in league with the Winchesters, and not out of pretence, either. The only one she's fooling here is _you_."

Meg eyed him coldly for a full minute.

"Truth hurts." He shrugged apologetically, and she rolled her eyes.

"You don't have any proof. You're just a jealous, desperate little rodent who wants back in the game."

"Am I?" Crowley huffed in amusement, "I'm not the one living in some rotting termite nest under Montana. In fact I've built me a new mansion. Gorgeous - tops the one they trashed five years back and then some." He bobbed his eyebrows saucily, "You really should see it. When you find time to crawl out of this hole, that is. Though I hear you're quite good at that."

"What do you need, Crowley?" Meg queried in a voice which stated she had grown weary of his gloating.

"Nothing." He informed her, "God knows the day I need anything from _you_, I'll be in a bloody bad way." He ignored her icy glare as he continued, "I'm just in it for the fun."

Meg's lips turned up at the edges, "You don't fool me. Maybe there's nothing you _need_, but there's something that you _want_." She tilted her head, "What is it?"

He snorted, "That desperate to stay out of debt, are we now? Can't say I blame you."

"Times are hard." Meg agreed salaciously, "But tell me, Crowley." She traced a finger over the lid of the whiskey bottle and met with a dark eagerness, "What is it that you want from me?"

He sighed and rubbed a hand across his forehead, "The day women learn to take a favour...fine." He slapped the same hand down on the desk, "I suppose I could humour your twisted need for fair and square. There _is_ something I want - something you can get me."

"And what's that?" Meg crossed her arms, "A new personality?"

"Winters." Crowley stated flatly, "I want you to shed light on two very points of interest for me; who she is," He topped up his glass, "And how she got here."

Meg rolled her tongue across the bridge of her teeth as she contemplated the request, "And in return?"

"I'll keep you one step ahead of the Winchesters." Crowley gulped back his drink, "Now that's not a bad deal, is it?"

She rolled her eyes, "I'll bet you were Salesman of the Year back in the day."

"I'll take that as a yes." Crowley saluted Meg with his glass.

The ante had been upped.


	6. Chapter 6

_Sorry for the delay in updating, all. My boyfriend was hit by a pick-up truck that swerved off the road after Toy, our dog, ran into the main freeway. Anyway thank God he's doing better and should be out of hospital on Monday. But Tyler's been pulling overnights by his bedside and she is not a happy gal :(. Leave me some luv and make my week. It's been pretty so rotten so far. Thanks a mil and enjoy the ride._

_- Tyler_

* * *

_Cicero, Indiana:_

Dean loved cars. He especially loved sleek, athletic rides like Mustangs and Chevy's. Something about their muscular dynamics commanded respect from other vehicles and (for the most part) kept their drivers safe from any potential road hogging.

Dean had worked extra hard over the years to keep the Impala in pristine condition. He'd had numerous offers from collectors of vintage cars that had soared into the six digit figures - and had refused every one of them. His baby may have finally reached menopause and was giving him a little more attitude than she had done in previous years, but Dean could care less. The Impala would remain a Winchester vehicle until Hell froze over.

An unlikely event, Dean thought assuredly, as he put the finishing touches on the surface detail of a shiny new Mercedes. Damn dent had been a bitch - and so had the owner. But she was also a relative - Lisa's younger and highly annoying sister - and therefore Dean was bound by the code of ethic (and fear of Lisa's wrath) to treat her with civility. Sis-in-law also had good insurance, and Dean contented himself that the fat cheque Miss Kelly Braeden had written him was worth the incessant barrage of phone calls and anxious complaints.

"I must speak with you."

Dean didn't even drop the buffing rag in his hand, though he did jump inwardly at the sound of Castiel breathing down his neck. He forced a calming exhale and remained facing the Merc.

"Fine - shoot."

It was a good thing Kelly hadn't called for the fifteenth time that day and asked if she could swing by. Though Dean had to admit the fright Cas would've given her was likely to be a show-stopper.

"I have attempting to keep tabs on Winters." Castiel sounded just a mite frustrated as he spoke the name, "Though not without difficulty. Her phone appears to be switched off. The tracker I implanted secretly in her jacket seems to be functioning, though the weak signal would suggest she is at least a state away."

Dean resisted a smirk, "Looks like you got played by Michaela J Fox there, Cas. How does it feel?"

Castiel squinted at the unfamiliar reference, "I recognize that to be your mocking tone." He ignored Dean's unapologetic shrug, "It _feels_ frustrating. Here I am, Heaven's brightest star of the moment, and I can't even keep track of a little girl." He paced the garage as he spoke before stopping and glaring at Dean's amused mutter, "What was that?"

"Nothin', just uh..." Dean scratched behind his ear and cleared his throat, "Hand me that wax there, would ya?"

Castiel's hand paused over a large selection of said items, "I'm not certain to which ointment you're referring..."

"Oh for God's sake." Dean had already snatched it and was buffing on the final coat over the repaired dent in Kelly's ride.

"Do not take the Lord's name in vain, Dean - I've asked you repeatedly." Castiel grumbled, and the hunter rolled his eyes with an inaudible mutter as he continued to work - and Cas continued to ramble.

"The last Winters and I spoke, she had located what she insists to be Meg's real base of operations in Great Falls, Montana."

"Great Falls?" Dean twisted to quirk his eyebrows, "Thought you said you followed her to _Wyoming_."

"I did." Castiel confirmed, and the curious angel had apparently found the personalized license plate on the back of Kelly's hair to be of interest. He was studying it intently, "There was undeniable evidence of a scheme - but Winters tells me that Meg has several dummy bases set up to distract from her real location."

"Sounds like Meg to me." Dean finished his job with a few final rubs, "Scheming is that bitch's middle name...along with Lying, Manipulating and Sadistic, of course."

Castiel shrugged distractedly as he crouched down, hands on his knees, to better inspect the plate, "If you say so. I only knew of her as Meg Masters. Though of course that was the name of her first possession victim which she merely adopted..."

"Speaking of _names_," Dean straightened up and wiped his forehead with the hand clutching the rag, "You callin' Nate by her last name all the damn time isn't exactly gonna encourage amiability, if you get my meaning."

"I see no reason for addressing her by her first name. It's likely an alias." Castiel frowned deeply and traced a finger along the letters on the plate, "Correct me if wrong, but I believe BL0WM1 is some kind of code for..."

"Don't ask me, man - it ain't my plate." Dean tossed his rag in a pile as though washing his hands of the matter.

"No, it's mine." Kelly Braeden had decided to show up unannounced, apparently, and it was all Dean could do to remain straight-faced as the 23 year old sauntered into the garage, her bleached, extended hair remaining a deadweight against her cream leather suit jacket. The petite, well-angled woman pulled up her Banana Republic shades to yank back the layers of hair falling in her face and flashed Castiel a haughty eyebrow raise and smirk.

"Hey, Cas. Nice to see you around here again."

Castiel had gone pale and turned eyes of terror onto Dean as the peroxide blonde gave him one last man-eating smile and stalked on to her car.

"You didn't tell me this was _Kelly's_ car!" The pulverized angel stammered in a whisper, and Dean gave him a reassuring slap on the shoulder.

"Buck up, dude. Just keep'er at arms lengths."

"Well. Deano," Kelly was examining her Mercedes with critical scrutiny, her heels clacking against the floor as she completed a full circle and paused at the repaired dent, "I see you actually managed to do a decent job. Thanks for that."

Dean smiled acerbically at the acid dripping from his sister-in-law's loaded compliment, "No problem, Kells."

She glanced up at him with a sour scowl, "Only Lisa gets to call me that."

"Oh well," Dean dipped his head, still smirking mordantly, "My bad."

"I really must be going." Castiel seized the opportunity to begin skirting towards the door, but Kelly pouted and swung out an arm, pressing her palm against the wall and effectively trapping the terrified angel.

"Always on the go, huh Casper?"

"It's...uh...Castiel." He corrected between gulpfulls of air as he scooted against the wall until he was free of her arm.

"Whatever." The lustful woman's eyes gleamed cold as she tucked a business card into the pocket of his trenchcoat, then stood on her tiptoes till her lips reached Cas' unwilling ear, "Call me."

Kelly seemed perfectly willing to believe that it was her charm taking Castiel's voice from him - and tragically for the angel, Dean was perfectly willing to allow it to continue. The hunter was already laughing under his hand as Kelly sauntered back to her beloved car and ran a hand over the roof.

"Can I take it home?"

"Sure can - just be careful for the last wax coat, it hasn't dried yet." Dean tossed her the keys, and her attempt to catch them failed as they went sailing over her head.

Dean snickered despite himself, "Take it you never made baseman."

"If you wanted to see me bend over, all you had to do was take a long walk off a short pier first!" Kelly hissed as he fished up her keys and entered the Mercedes with a slam of the door behind her.

Dean waved a greasy rag at her rearview mirror, "Drive safely!"

She flipped him the bird as she pulled out with a shriek of exhausted tires.

Dean laughed and turned to find Castiel frozen to the spot, his face a picture of relief, "Oh come on, it's not like she's the plague."

"The woman frightens me." Castiel was still watching the car tear around the curb, "And I do not say that lightly, Dean!"

"Well good luck with Meg then." The older Winchester scoffed, before his voice took on a serious tenor, "So you really lost Natey, huh?"

Castiel turned at that remark and drew himself up haughtily, "I don't know who you're referring to."

Dean's eyelids grew heavy with an air of less-than-amused Winchester impatience.

Castiel straightened the collar of his trench coat, "She's somewhere in North Dakota. I haven't lost her entirely."

Dean rolled his eyes and slapped down the rag, "Come on."

"Where?" Castiel squinted warily.

"To North Dakota," Dean called over his shoulder as he walked out of the garage, snatching up his leather coat as he went, "Ass-butt!"

* * *

_Peak Mont, North Dakota:_

"What the hell're you doin' in _North Dakota_?" Bobby's voice demanded down the phone, and Sam sighed down the other end of the line.

"Look, Nate thinks she knows what Meg's next move is gonna be."

"And you're _buyin'_ it? I thought you didn't trust a goddamn word that punk kid says."

"Yeah well, desperate times." Sam cast a wary glance over his shoulder at Nate, who smiled acidly up at him from filing her nails and mouthed 'real nice'. He ignored her.

"Don't make a lick o' sense, Sam - why're you two rubbin' shoulders all of a sudden?" Bobby was genuinely floored - and suspicious.

Sam ran fingers through his hair, "Well, we think we can cut Meg off before she gets a major step on us."

"And the thought of lettin' me and your brother in on the take never crossed your mind?" Bobby huffed indignantly, "Dean's gonna _kill_ you, boy, and that's if I don't get there first!"

Sam remained patient in the face of the older hunter's wrath, "It's a two-man job, no big deal. I didn't think it was necessary to pull Dean away from his family..."

"You _are_ his family, ya idjit!" Bobby thundered, "You think Dean don't already know what you're doin'? The guy's a steel trap when it comes to you and your little solo missions."

"You told him where I was?" Sam sounded irked all of a sudden.

"No - but you can bet Cas' got eyes on every corner of the road watchin' Nate Winters, who by the sound of things is your new accomplice!" Bobby growled, "Last I heard, Cas and Dean were scouring North Dakota for her - they should be on you any second now."

Sam nodded in irritation, "Guess I'll call you later then."

"Sam?"

"What?"

"Be careful out there, ya hear me?" Bobby cautioned urgently.

"Yes sir."

The line went dead.

Sam pocketed his phone with a shake of his head and turned to locate Nate. The girl's brow was knit in deep concentration as she focused on cleaning out the underside of her nails...with a hefty switchblade obviously used for other purposes. She paused and looked up at Sam's disdainful glare before mimicking said expression in a farcical manner.

"What?"

Sam's smile was cynical and condescending - the sort he favoured Dean with frequently, "I take it you don't know much about knife care."

"I know if you stick somebody with this bad boy, it'll hurt." Nate shrugged in a less than insulted manner as she waved the device at Sam with a sardonic smile, "It's _Swiss_."

Sam had to laugh at that, "Right, and let me guess - your angel knife comes in real handy for Thanksgiving."

The young girl threw him a heavy stare, "I don't do holidays." She brushed past Sam with all the briskness of a lawyer in court, "So I take it we've gotta ditch the Cavalry?"

"I take it you were eavesdropping." He replied distractedly as they crossed the first lane of the busy two-way street, "Whoa!" Sam's reflexes were sharp enough to grab hold of Nate's arm and pull her back onto the curb in time to save her from a large truck the kid had all but walked in front of. The driver yelled a profanity and waved his middle finger as he continued on his way.

Nate pulled her arm out of Sam's grip with a shrug of her shoulder, "Stupid blind corners."

"That wasn't a blind corner!" The hunter protested in bewilderment as they covered the rest of the road and reached the safety of the sidewalk.

"He came outta nowhere - same thing." Nate didn't seem remotely shaken by the encounter, and Sam opened his mouth several times before he could think of something PG-13 to say on the subject.

"Next time, look both ways." He exhaled deeply though his nostrils as he stalked down the street, eyes peeled for signs of Castiel or Dean. Nate mimicked Sam's remonstrance silently with a roll of her eyes at the hunter's broad back before she caught up to him in a few quick strides.

"So how long do we have until your brother and Mr Wings show up?"

"Well, Bobby seemed to think they were already here." Sam kept his eyes peeled as they walked, "So I'm guessing that means they took the Cas Express - which in turn means Dean's gonna show up pissed."

"And constipated." Nate muttered to herself, and Sam froze dead in his tracks to cast her a look of complete disgust. She seemed surprised.

"What? Don't tell me you've never had your colon double-knotted after some angel zapped you somewhere!"

Sam wasn't quite sure which of the snappy one-liners filling his head should be chosen for the occasion, so he finally settled on saying nothing at all, instead turning and breaking into a brisk walk once more.

"Denial's not just a river in Egypt." Winters shrugged to herself before continuing on as though nothing had happened, "So since we're short on time, might be best to just skip all the dilly-dallying and strike while the iron's hot."

"Meaning what exactly?" Sam demanded as Nate ground to a halt outside a particularly-seedy looking store.

"Meg's got a...what's the term..._supplier_ here in Peak Mont." Nate unzipped her jacket and reached for the inside pocket, "Guy owns what you might call a demon drug kingdom - all kinds of wierd, satanic opiates and boosters."

"Okay, so what's that got to do with Croatoan?" Sam couldn't help but dig his hands in his pockets and shift uncomfortably as he realized they were standing directly outside a sex shop. Nate didn't seem bothered in the slightest.

"Meg's short one ingredient on a new formula she's trying out. The stuff this guy gives her leads to a major breakthrough." Nate pulled out her trusty switchblade and tucked in up her sleeve, "You coming?"

"Wait, in there?" Sam raised his eyebrows at the Busty Asian Beauties posters that tactfully hid the window panes, and Nate gave him a heavy-lidded stare for a response.

Sam cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, "Okay, you're what - fifteen?"

"Ten, actually. Just had my birthday." Nate stated sourly, and then rolled her eyes at Sam's less-than-amused eyebrow rasie, "Look, no one's gonna ID me, if that's what you're worried about."

"No, I'm actually more concerned about what you think you're gonna do with that _knife_ of yours." Sam could spot at least two demons standing watch on either corner of the street. Their stiff postures, folded hands and flint-like faces told him what his senses didn't. Not that he needed to use a good deal of his hunter's intuition these days. Demons stood out like a red blip on Sam's ethereal radar.

"Just, you know, wave it around." Nate's non-committal response to Sam's previous statement was less than reassuring as she pushed open the door and the sound of a recorded woman's climax groaned in welcome, "Come on!"

Sam sighed deeply and shut his eyes, forcing himself to remain calm before he headed in after Nate.

The store was seedy and dimly-lit - and smelt like cheap soap. Sam felt his boot crunch something slimy and gingerly moved back to find an opened packet of lubricated condoms dropped in a heap. He clenched his jaw and nodded.

"Great. We've just walked into Soho."

"Would you relax?" Nate slapped his arm and steered him in the direction of a cheesy-looking beaded curtain, "This place is a cover designed to keep hunters off the prowl. You're _meant_ to find it repugnant."

"Can I help you two?" A thick-armed, stocky man who came up to Sam's chest stepped roughly in their path as they approached the curtain.

"Uh, we're just...lookin' around..." Sam began casually, but Nate squeezed his arm tightly and let out a giggle.

"Oh honey, don't be so shy!" She patted Sam's broad chest and smiled at the doorman, "Don't mind us, but...we were hoping to take a look downstairs? I hear you have some great new stock just in."

"Oh yeah?" The doorman's scowl remained constant, but his squinting eyes shifted up to Sam, "What's with the knife your broad's got stuffed up her sleeve then?"

Sam's lips pressed tightly together and he cast Nate a cold, I-told-you-so expression. She glared at him pointedly but removed the knife from her sleeve, handing it over to the doorman.

"Lose it and you're dead." She then yelped between closed lips as Sam jabbed her in the ribs just hard enough to get his point across.

"You here to see Harrison?" The doorman's eyes flashed black for a moment, and Nate cocked her head to side challengingly.

"Yeah," Her own eyes blinked and turned to milky whites, "We are."

The doorman recoiled, and Sam did his best to keep a straight face as the young girl's eyes returned to normal with a blink.

"Come this way." The demon muttered, pushing aside the bead curtain and descending a set of grimy steps that disappeared into blackness.

Sam turned on Nate with a glare that could kill, and she held up a hand.

"Relax, Rambo. Just futuristic lenses." Nate held up the packaging to prove it and then shoved past Sam to head down the steps, "I can hook you up with a pair if you feel like pranking Dean."

Sam heaved yet another calming breath and shook the frustration from his mind, descending the grimy, darkened stairway. Symbols of every kind, specifically designed to ward off angelic beings, were scrawled along the gritty drywall, and Sam was thankful that his paranormal abilities weren't setting off any detectors - not yet, at least.

The hallway was thin and short, and ended in a sharp L curve that led them to a heavy pine door. Their demon escort rapped briskly at it with his gloved knuckles, and it opened without a sound. A plump older woman with tatooed eyebrows and blue mascara was licking something that smelled and looked like blood off her fingers. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of Sam.

"You fool! Don't you know who he is?" She hissed in a bat-like shriek, and her eyes gleamed black as she cursed at the doorman.

Nate turned to Sam with an exasperated expression, "You gotta start wearing shades and a Laker's cap."

Sam didn't waste a minute reacting to the surge he felt burning in his veins. His palm flattened out against the air and the demon woman flew backwards, crashing against a glass coffee table and sprawling in an unconscious heap amidst the wreckage.

The room was empty save for the doorman and another male demon, both of whom turned on Sam in a mad rage. Sam was knocked to the ground by one of the demons and just as the second one went to join in on the assault, he was intercepted by Nate, who had pulled out her flask of holy water. She doused him with a generous helping and he doubled over hissing as his skin bubbled and steamed.

"Sam! He's in the girl!" Nate yelled over the noise of Sam and the stocky doorman demon battling it out on the ground. Sam had managed to get on top and was laying into the possessed man with a set of heavy punches from his giant fist.

"A little busy here, Nate!" He responded as the demon headbutted him before rolling him off and leaping to his feet.

Nate jumped backwards to avoid a vicious kick her attacker was aiming at her head and lashed out with her holy water once more, "He's getting away!" She called out angrily to Sam, who glanced up sharply to see the obese woman rise to her feet slowly, blood dripping from a cut in her head, and stagger towards a back door.

"Damn it!" Sam picked up a fallen hat stand and whacked the doorman across the head with all his might, sending the man sprawling on his backside. The demon had no time to recover before Sam's hand was raised and he was choking on black smoke.

Sam hastened to send the demon through the floorboards, leaving scorched wood in its wake. He felt strength drain from him, and warm blood filled his nostrils, spilling onto his upper lip. He ignored it and twisted around to watch Nate take a punch to the jaw and crash into a chest of drawers. She lay motionless on the ground, and her attacker turned on Sam with black, shining eyes, crashing Sam into the wall and wrapping thick fingers around his trachea.

Sam choked and gripped the demon's wrists, but his strength had been severely sapped by the use of his normally dormant powers, and his reserves were running low.

Air left Sam's lungs with a rush as his assailant delivered a jab to his solar plexus and maintained his grip on Sam's throat, "Should've just stuck to the window stock!"

Suddenly, orange flashes of light gleamed from under the demon's pale skin, and it threw back its head with a roar as a knife pierced its jugular vein.

"I'm experimental." Nate muttered through clenched teeth as she drove Sam's demon-slaying knife deeper into the dying demon throttling him. Sam shoved the hands around his neck off with relief as the demon fell to the floor, nearly dragging Nate along with him as she struggled to pull the knife back out.

"You okay?" Sam queried breathlessly.

"Yeah, just get the fat one!" She yelled back from her position on her knees twisting at the knife, and Sam whirled about-face just in time to catch a glimpse of stained tie-dye pants disappearing through the door.

"Shit!" Sam turned back to Nate, "Here - move." He shoved her aside and yanked the knife from the fallen man with one tug of his hand before hurrying after the fleeing demon.

The woman had hiked a long flight of stairs, considerably slower than Sam's quick leaps to clear it, and was almost at the fire escape door before he tackled her in a flying leap and knocked her to the ground.

"Shut up!" Sam warned loudly over the demon's screams for 911 (of all the unusual tactics) as he pinned one of the woman's shoulders to the ground and held the knife to the demon's throat with the other hand.

The demon promptly stopped yelling and a slow smile crept over the woman's age-worn, drug-worn features, "Go ahead, Winchester. Exorcise me and save Grandma Jeannie here, if you can. But you and that fine little female of yours won't make it out of this town alive - not without me." His black eyes overtook the woman's creamy green irises, "You _need_ me."

"I don't think so." Castiel's deep voice echoed off the tiled hallway, and with a raise of his palm the demon met its end, crackling with internal fire and letting out a holler as it burned out altogether.

"Bang up job coverin' your tracks there, Sammy." Dean was standing over his younger brother, looking both amused and a little pissed off, "You know it actually took us a whole _ten_ minutes to sniff you out? Course that coulda been due to the fact your trail was a little on the slippery side with all the _lube_." He bobbed his eyebrows at Sam, who clamped his jaw shut with a less-than-amused huff, "No seriously, this is the first time I've seen you get off your high 'n mighty horse and duck into a sex shop. Unless we're counting that time in Orange County, but you were _so_ beyond wasted."

"We have to leave." Castiel interrupted the one-sided conversation, "The demon was right - there will be more of them on our backs, and soon."

"Where's Nate?" Sam stood up and glanced around, but the young girl seemed to have vanished as suddenly as Cas had appeared, "She was right behind me."

"Not _again_." Dean cast a sharp pair of eyes around the vicinity before nodding in frustration, "Great. How the hell's she doin' it?"

Sam lifted his shoulders helplessly, "Maybe Oplexicon gives her an airlift every time Cas shows up. She seems pretty wary of him."

"And rightly so." Castiel informed them haughtily, "I'm an archangel, and Winters..._Natey_," He threw Dean a scowl that was heartily returned, "is in cohorts with an _archdemon_. She is my enemy by association."

"And you wonder why she gets a little jumpy." Sam retorted with a squint of his eyes, causing Dean to raise his eyebrows quizzically at his brother.

"Since when are you on _Nate's_ side?"

"Why are there always _sides_ with you two?" Sam queried, "Good and bad, right and wrong, black and white. The world's a whole lot greyer than that sometimes, Dean."

"This is blasphemy." Castiel stepped forward in a very uncharacteristic display of anger.

"No, it's just _life_." Sam growled out, and Dean glanced soberly from the angel to his brother before settling firm eyes on Sam.

"I need to talk to you, alone."


	7. Chapter 7

_Home from hospital and have more time to write. Just lookin' after my boyfriend while he's laid up for a month or so. Hence, as aforementioned...more time to write! Leave me some love!_

_- Tyler_

* * *

The backdoor of the rundown store slammed and rattled behind the Winchester brothers as Dean and Sam stepped through it and bounded down the three metal steps to the pavement.

"What?" Sam demanded coldly, and Dean's eyebrows narrowed at the tone.

"You _really_ wanna be giving me attitude, especially after I had to let Cas beam me four states over cuz you couldn't ask for back up?"

Sam huffed and eyed the milling street a couple meters off, "I had it covered."

"Oh yeah, that was really my first impression when that demon was hollering for his goon squad." Dean was bent on keeping up the stern glare, and Sam was bent on avoiding it. After a long moment of silence, Dean shifted topics, "Who was he anyway?"

"One of Meg's sources for Croatoan." Sam tucked his hands into his jacket pocket as a rush of icy wind buffeted about them, "Nate said he was about to give Meg a major leg-up with it."

Dean squinted with quiet suspicion, "So now we're _trusting_ Nate?"

"Maybe." Sam kicked at an empty whiskey bottle that had fallen from the dumpsters lining the wall, "Yeah. I guess so."

"Uh huh? Look not that I'm complaining, but why the sudden change in heart?" Dean queried, and something his voice had Sam glancing up from the ground with a facial shrug.

"No special reason. Just...thought it seemed smart. We're flying blind against Meg here otherwise, and Nate's been right about her leads so far."

"Sam."

"Drop it." The younger hunter met his brother's eyes with a hardened veneer creeping over their hazel depths, and Dean's own eyes lidded heavily in response to the challenge.

"I thought we were done keeping secrets."

"I thought we were done not trusting each other."

"Exactly, so what're you not trusting me with?" Dean kept up the assault with a quiet ruthlessness, and Sam sighed heavily.

"Nothing, I'm just...I'm tired." He pinched the bridge of his nose and it was clear the makings of nasty migraine were underway. The trick still worked like a charm - even three decades later. Dean's eyes furrowed in concern.

"You use your freaky Yoda thing again?"

Sam's eyes closed shut tight, "You promised you'd stop callin' it that."

"Shoulda got it in writing, Sammy." Dean shrugged wickedly, even as he took his brother's arm, "Come on, Sasquatch. Let's get back to Cicero before the demon squad shows up." He paused mid-track and frowned at an adolescent school girl crossing the street opposite them. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and her gray eyes were watchful of every shadow around her as she glared at the oncoming traffic. She was rakishly thin, and her legs sported green and yellow bruises that peeked out from under the skirt of her uniform.

Something about the child was terribly familiar to Dean - the calloused indifference in her eyes as they met Dean's challengingly from across the street.

He raised his eyebrows as she flipped him the bird before breaking into a brisk walk back the way she had come.

"Something about that kid seem awful familiar to you?" Sam's voice broke into Dean's concentration, and the hunters watched in unison as the adolescent girl retreated down a side alley and out of sight.

"Didn't Nate say somethin' about being from Peak Mont?"

Sam caught Dean's eye as his older brother broached the question, "Only one way to find out."

They tracked her for ten blocks without difficulty, maintaining the element of surprise and shadowing the girl in question to a rundown neighbourhood that, in the lazy afternoon light, managed to appear threatening even though it sported a small playground as a centrepiece. Dean nodded at a crowd of hooded youths giving him shady looks and turned to Sam with a plastic grin.

"Think we should let Cas in on the take?"

Sam quirked his eyebrows at his brother incredulously, "After we just told him to stake out the seedy sex shop in case Nate shows up?"

"Yeah, you're right. That was just _way_ too priceless." Dean sniffed and slapped his hands together, "Right - which house'd she go in?"

"Number 24." Sam was already on his way there, stepping over a broken tricycle and dodging a sprinkler that went off on a dead lawn two meters off. Dean shrugged and followed his brother, noting the empty syringes and beer bottles lying strewn amidst heaps of broken glass and other rubbish piled up outside the house in question.

"Well there you have it - she's clearly from a nice, adjusted family." Dean kicked a ratty magazine at Sam, who narrowed his eyebrows at it and sighed contemptuously at his brother.

"So now Busty Asian Beauties automatically gives criminals immunity?"

Dean scrunched his brow in confusion, "Okay, so they may or may not have unleashed Nate out on the world. That doesn't make'em jailbirds!"

"Dean, did you see her bruises?" Sam raised his eyebrows cynically, "Whether this kid is Nate or not, the fact remains that she's being..."

"Alright, alright, thank you, Judge Judy, I get the picture." The older hunter threw up his hands in frustration and stomped towards the front door, "Let's just go see if it's really her before we call goddamn Social Services."

Sam sighed longsufferingly at his brother's determined march and heavy-fisted knocking, dragging his boots along to stand beside Dean as there was a shuffle behind the door.

"What exactly are you gonna say, Dean?"

"I'm working on it." Dean admitted, and the net curtain covering the door's window was pulled aside slightly to reveal a pair of suspicious grey eyes with smudged mascara and knitted eyebrows. "Quick, put on the puppy dog eyes, Sammy." Dean straightened up and nodded with a smile.

The curtain promptly fell, and silence reigned once more. Moments ticked by before Dean turned to Sam, "Okay, she's not buyin' it."

"Yeah, let's go around the back." Sam murmured in agreement, and the two brothers stealthily crept through a myriad of recycling boxes and broken furniture. Dean quirked an eyebrow at the host of bottles.

"Someone call AA." He muttered under his breath, and Sam gave him a scornful expression and stabbed a thumb towards the grimy window opening into a kitchen of some sort. The hunters peered discreetly through the smudged glass under the gap in the ill-fitted net curtains. The room had, for all intents and purposes, the appearance of a normal, basic kitchen; a dishrack full of modest-looking beige plates, a couple of chipped mugs, and the odd piece of silverware; a drab, stocky fridge-freezer with random alphabet magnets, post-its and polaroids.

Dean burrowed deeper into the dying rose shrubbery lining the wall and peered around the corner of the window pane. Sam heard his brother's whispered "Hey," and hastened to follow suit.

"Check it out." Dean nodded towards the thin woman stumbling into the kitchen. She appeared to be in her early thirties, although the wan haggardness of her face suggested years of substance abuse. Dean knew the look...so did Sam. They encountered it often enough in their line of work - staying in ramshackle motels generally did the trick.

Dean frowned in concentration as his green eyes followed the woman's crooked path about the kitchen. Her filthy, peroxide-blonde hair was pulled directly atop her head with a giant scrunchie, and she was clad in nothing but an oversized Yankees T-shirt that did little to hide her skeletal legs or the bruised veins in her arms. She fumbled across a counter top and lit up a cigarette, dropping the lighter twice in the process, before opening the (relatively empty) fridge and rifling around while muttering four-letter words that made even Dean's eyebrows arch.

"Well I'll be damned. Bet she could out-cuss _me_." He turned to Sam, who had gone dead silent, his jaw locked tightly in place and his throat convulsing with heavy swallows. Dean quirked an eyebrow.

"What is it?"

Sam pressed his lips together tightly, his eyes still glued to the drunken woman as she slammed the fridge shut with a loud expletive, then began yelling for her daughter in a throaty voice.

"Natey, get your lazy little ass in here yesterday!"

Dean's frown returned, but it was deeper and darker than it had been as he twisted to glance at Sam. His brother's expression was still unreadable, and Dean acted quickly, giving the man a sharp slap upside the head.

Sam jolted back to reality, his breath coming in shorter spurts and his eyes turning on Dean wildly, "We gotta do something."

"Take it easy." Dean patted his shoulder and returned his gaze to the house, "Let's just make sure we got our facts straight."

The woman returned dragging her daughter by the hair, after which she proceeded to open the refrigerator and attempted to shove the girl's head inside.

"Look, you _look_ at that shit!" The drunken mother screamed, and the girl shook free of the hold on her hair before shoving the woman away a few cautionary feet.

"Mom, you're drunk, you're fucking _drunk_!"

The woman responded by grabbing the nearest object (a toaster) and whacking her daughter across the head, "Don't you ever call me _drunk_, you little slut!"

"Son of a bitch." Dean muttered between clenched teeth, and Sam's hand was fisting his brother's jacket tightly.

"Come on."

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"

The Winchesters jumped and whirled around to see Nate Winters crouching behind them in the grass. Her eyes were ablaze with dangerous anger...and something akin to fear.

"Get us the hell out of here!" Nate yelled at nobody in particular, and the brothers suddenly found themselves in Dean's garage, their stomachs and heads spinning and their landing ungraceful. Nate was the first to her feet, all three of them choking on the stench of sulfur that permeated the air.

"God I'll kill you, I swear." Nate was angrier than she had ever appeared, her face taut and white with rage as she drew her handgun and trained it on Sam first, then Dean, then back at Sam again.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, just...calm down!" Dean held up his hands in front of him as both brothers found their footing, their faces sober and intense.

Nate cocked the safety off her gun, "You go near that _fucking_ house again..."

"Put the gun down before you blow your foot off!" Dean ordered in a stern, quiet tone, and she glared in response, "We just wanted to make sure you were legit."

"And you've never heard of the Yellow Pages?" Nate seemed slightly less ruffled, though her tone and shoulders were still on edge.

"I don't get it, Nate. Why'd you take that kind of crap from her, huh?" Dean shook his head in disbelief, "I mean this is _you_ we're talkin' about..."

"You wouldn't understand." Nate thumbed the safety back on and lowered her arms by her side, and Sam, who had been dreadfully silent up until this point, let out an indignant scoff.

"Nate, she's _beating_ you. What's there to understand?"

"She was my _mother_!" The girl ground out harshly, tucking her gun into the back of her jeans and reaching into her jacket, "But like I said, you wouldn't understand."

Sam swallowed back a retort at that remark. It was true. Mary Winchester had come and gone far too quickly for either of the boys to really, truly understand.

"Was?" Dean quirked an eyebrow, and Nate nodded as she unscrewed the cap on a silver flask she had produced from her jacket and knocked back a swig.

"She's dead. Killed off by an Incubus," She gulped down another large swallow and shrugged callously at Dean, "Five years next Thursday."

"Next Thursday?" Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Should I say it in Polish?" Nate pocketed the flask and tucked her thumbs in the loop of her belt, "So look it; next bump in the road's gonna be hooking Meg up with another supplier - someone on our payroll who can slip her a fake."

"Sure, no problem, we'll just uh scroll through our list of demon associates, see if we can call in a favour." Dean snorted at the notion, and Nate rolled her eyes.

"Don't be so modest. I'm sure you still have Crowley on your speed dial."

Sam frowned at her, "How'd you know about Crowley?"

"What good is _that_ information gonna do you?" Nate seemed genuinely curious, and Sam shook his head with a sardonic grin.

"Forget I asked."

A sudden rattling of the garage door had the three glancing up sharply, and Ben stepped into the room before pausing in surprise.

"Whoa. Sorry - didn't know you all were in here."

"No, it's okay." Dean was looking grim all of a sudden, and Nate hazarded a questioning glance at Sam, only to find the man looking equally poignant. Ben was silent under the stares of the Winchesters, and he nodded before scuffling his Converses on the hard grit floor.

"Uh...Mom says dinner's on the table." He turned and left without another word.

Nate glanced between the brothers, "Nice kid." She cocked her head at Dean, "He yours?"

"For all intents and purposes." Sam was still watching the doorway with an almost heavy air about him. Dean grimaced at the quip.

"Dude, that sounded totally wrong."

Nate seemed to be compiling her own information on the subject, "So what, he creep down here to play with Daddy's guns or something?"

"Why don't you mind your own business?" Dean snapped huffily, flipping off the lights and heading for the door.

"Why don't you practice what you preach?" Nate muttered, and Dean twisted around to unleash his mind on the matter when in walked Lisa. She froze and glanced from Dean to Nate to Sam and back to Nate again before breaking into a hospitable smile (Dean had always called it her Creepy Stepford Face).

"Honey, you...didn't tell me you were bringing a guest to dinner."

"Oh I'm not.." Nate began hastily, but Dean beat her to it equally as fast.

"Oh she's not..."

"Nate's an old friend." Sam, amazingly enough, took control over the situation in one smooth move, "She was passing through and dropped by to say hello." He sported a plastic smile as he turned to Nate, "Isn't that right?"

Nate opened her mouth once, felt Sam's toe jab her ankle sharply, and grit her teeth through smiling closed lips, "Yup, that's...how it goes."

Lisa raised her eyebrows, the Creepy Stepford Face (CSF) replacing itself with a warm smile, "Really? Well...why don't you join us for dinner? It's so rare I get to meet any of Sam or Dean's old friends."

Nate appeared genuinely afraid of the notion, "Oh...I couldn't possibly..."

"Please." Lisa reached out, taking her hand and placing her own over it, "I insist."

Nate was white as a sheet and seemed to be about to make a dash for it, but Sam's hand fell into place around her shoulders, the weight of it heavy and foreboding and squelching any promise of escape.

Nate's eyes flicked up at him with a scowl, and he met her gaze with firm insistence. She glared ever so slightly before turning back to Lisa with a farcical smile.

"You got any Jack?"

Lisa's smile widened, "Come on." She kept her hold on Nate's hand and led her out of the garage, "Honey, would you get the lights?"

Dean turned to Sam the moment the girls were out of earshot, "What the hell are you thinking?"

"Look, Dean, you just have to go with me on this one, alright?" Sam raised his hands emphatically, and Dean scoffed angrily.

"I got nothing against working with the kid, but puttin' her with Ben and Lisa? That's something else entirely!"

Sam raised his eyebrows sceptically, "You really worried she's gonna put the jump on your wife and kid with you and me in room? She'd have a better chance tackling world hunger!"

"I just don't get it, man. Why're you so pro-Nate all of a sudden, huh?" Dean had evidently taken Nate's remark about Ben more than a little personally, "I mean, one minute you wanna gank her and the next you're muscling her to the dinner table?"

"Just..." Sam inhaled deeply and then blew out the breath, "listen to me, alright? This whole thing's gotten much more complicated than we'd first thought, okay? I need to make sure I'm right about this before I do anything stupid."

Dean crinkled his nose in confusion, "Right about what? What are you talking about, Sammy?"

The younger hunter sighed and pinched the bridged of his nose, and Dean's eyelids grew heavy.

"None of that 'poor me' crap, okay? I let it go once, but enough's enough. You're gonna spill, now, and make it fast cuz I got Lisa and Ben alone with Martina McFly."

Sam gave Dean a scathing look and scrubbed a hand through his thick mane of hair, shaking his head and looking away.

Dean shifted his footing slightly, "Sammy. C'mon."

"It's..." Sam was evidently having great difficulty getting it out, but an unrelenting pair of green eyes trained on him seemed to do the trick, "...you remember that fall we spent in North Dakota back in '03?"

Dean nodded, "Yeah. Dad got wind of a salt and burn; it was our first hunt alone together, we were stoked."

"Yeah well...you remember that family who we stayed with after they picked us up when the Impala broke down?" Sam's face was flushing slightly now, and his eyes were avoiding Dean's with a vengeance.

"Sure, uh what was the guy's name...Harry Winters or somethin'." Dean snapped his fingers in remembrance before his face fell into flat recognition, "Oh."

"They had that daughter, Geri." Sam's eyes were downcast now, moving wildly about the floor.

"Dude, we were there _one_ night!" Dean protested incredulously, and Sam glanced up at that.

"The case in town took us a week, Dean! And if you remember, the Winters were pretty involved in the whole thing. Her dad was the nightman at the museum - you don't remember any of this?" The younger Winchester was flustered beyond description, and Dean rocked back on his heels with his arms crossed as he took it all in.

"So what you're saying is..."

"Look I don't know for sure, alright?" Sam gestured emphatically, his eyebrows raised, "I just think it's a possibility."

"Well it would explain why Nate wants your entrails on a stick." Dean reasoned, and Sam flashed him a glare.

"Thanks a lot."

"Yeah well," Dean rubbed his face and cast a glance at the doorway where Lisa's voice calling his name wafted through the air, "okay so look. I say we go back to that house tomorrow and check it out for ourselves."

"Dean, are you kidding? I mean Nate made it pretty clear she didn't want us poking around up there." Sam seemed suddenly anxious to let sleeping dogs lie, and his brother graced him with a scowl.

"Well then we'll just have to keep her distracted, which is gonna be _your_ job, by the way." Dean pointed a finger at Sam as he headed out the garage door and into the evening air.

"What?" Sam protested as he hurried after his brother, "I'm the one who knew Geri, Dean. Don't you think it would be better if..."

"Oh no, no, no excuses, Casanova. You make'em, you take'em, besides," Dean threw him a grin, "If this don't make up for all the wasted hours I spent drilling you on contraception, I dunno what does."

"Dean..." Sam clamped his mouth shut and then opened it again, drawing in a huffing breath and settling on a coldly indignant bitch face as they trudged through the lightly falling snow in to the Winchester-Braeden household.

* * *

Dinner was on the table - chicken fillets, mashed potatoes and a giant salad. Lisa was big on healthy eating - and exercise, for that matter, both of which Dean claimed to be allergic to. Hunting had kept him and Sam active for years, but life in Suburbia had taken its toll and Dean had been bullied (well, that was his term for it) by Lisa into joining a gym. Ben as well, come to mention it. And neither of them had been too happy about it. Running for twenty minutes to catch some possessed bastard was one thing, but running for twenty minutes on a goddamn treadmill made no sense to Dean whatsoever.

Still, Lisa didn't bitch about Dean's appetite for greasy food or the way he treated beer as if it were water. She merely combated it by stocking their home with healthy alternatives and spiked Dean's beer with Brewers Yeast.

Yeah. They hadn't quite worked their way past that one yet.

Nate had sat herself on the left hand side at the far end of the table, looking as though she wanted to disappear into the chair. Ben was sitting in his usual seat in the middle of the right hand side, doing his best to mind his manners and avoid gawking suspiciously at the teenaged girl sitting opposite him. Lisa was busy blending a fruit mix in the juicer, but she managed to flash a smile at Dean and Sam as the two stepped into the kitchen.

"Oh honey, would you both scrape your boots on that doormat by the plant? We're dragging sludge into the house."

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam as they both complied, and Sam normally would have laughed at his brother's manifest aversion to cleanliness. But tonight, they had bigger problems.

Dean pulled out a chair for Lisa and relieved her of the heavy jug she was carrying to the table. She blushed, as she always did, and mumbled a thanks as she took the seat at the head of the table Dean had selected for her. Sam hefted himself into the chair at the end of the table (the only one with enough legroom for the tall hunter), and Dean yanked out a chair beside Nate, much to her discomfort.

Ben cleared his throat after the awkward silence pervaded for a moment too long, "Someone pass the chicken?"

"Mmm." Lisa smiled and handed it to Dean, "Pass it along? So Nate," She nodded at the girl, "Tell me about yourself. Where are you from?"

"Dakota." Nate was tense, her back stiff and straight, and she shook her head at the plate of chicken fillets as Dean held it out to her. He persisted, and she glared at him, "I'm fine. Thank you."

"Ah no need to be shy." Dean stuck a fork in the largest piece of chicken and smacked it onto Nate's plate, "There you go." He grinned at her, and her scowl was nothing if not ominous.

"Here," Dean shoved the plate in her hand, "Pass it on, would ya?"

Nate slid the plate towards Sam while keeping up her glare at his older brother, and Lisa coughed softly.

"Dean."

He looked her way innocently, and she frowned ever so slightly. He shut his mouth and swallowed back any further taunts he'd been stocking up.

"So how do you know Sam and Dean?" Lisa continued making conversation to ease the awkwardness at the table as she piled a generous portion of salad onto her plate before doing the same to Dean's and ignoring his crestfallen features.

"Uh...Nate's uh..."

"We uh we were..."

"I..." Nate interrupted both brother's attempts at an explanation, "kinda...saved their lives in this hunting thing awhile back. It was no big deal." She waved a hand nonchalantly, and Dean drew himself angrilly up as Lisa raised her eyebrows in surprise and Ben straightened in his seat eagerly.

"Really?" Lisa eyed Nate up and down, "Wow."

"So...you're a hunter then?" Ben leaned forward, anticipation lurking in the shine that had taken over his eyes.

"Elbows off the table, pal. This ain't a Chucky Cheese." Dean smashed the boy's hopes with a casual reminder that the topic was contraband at the dinner table, and Ben complied with a sigh of disappointment.

"Well I'm very grateful to you, Nate." Lisa adressed the girl genuinely, "I don't know what I'd do without my boys - all three of them."

Sam smiled wanly at the warm remark.

"Actually as I recall, that uh...wasn't exactly the way it went..." Dean began hastily, but Lisa cleared her throat heavily and shook her head when her husband's eyes trained sharply on her. Dean settled in his seat, content in the knowledge that Lisa was no idiot and was evidently aware that Nate was spouting nonsense.

"Some potatoes, Nate?" Lisa resumed the dialogue, and Nate shifted awkwardly in her seat.

"I'm fine, thank you. I uh don't usually eat dinner."

"I didn't used to either, till I became a full-time Yoga instructor." Lisa served herself a cup of juice, "Burns too many calories."

"She was losing her ass." Dean mumbled between mouthfulls of food, and his wife smiled sardonically.

"Thanks, sweetie."

"Well this has been lovely, really." Nate pushed out her chair and rose to her feet, "but I gotta head on home."

"Why don't you stick around?" Sam was suddenly on his feet, towering over the young girl with a benevolent expression that belied the insistence in his tone, "Peak Mont's a long way to go, and it's already dark out."

"I'm at a Motel, actually." Nate's jaw was rigid and her fists were balling up by her side.

"Gets dangerous at night around the motels." Dean pitched in, turning to Lisa, "Honey, what if Nate holed up in the guestroom for tonight, would that be alright by you?"

Lisa's brow arched upwards, "Of course!"

Nate was ready to bolt, "I really don't want to impose..."

"Who's imposing? We'll sleep a lot better knowing you're off the streets," Dean nodded and sported a cheesy grin, "for all kinds of reasons." He winked.

Nate's gray eyes squinted icily.

Dean winked again before turning to his plate, "I'll have some o' those potatoes, Lise, if you don't mind."

"Sit down, Nate." Sam urged quietly, and the young girl, who was still wearing her worn leather jacket, lowered her voice menacingly as she spoke.

"I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing..."

"Seriously?" Sam raised his eyebrows, "It's just dinner."

Nate appeared to be relaxing somewhat, though she did continue to eye him suspiciously.

"Come on." Sam smiled and pulled her chair back out for her, and the girl resumed her seat with all the grace of an elephant.

"So Lisa, you uh still got that whiskey on ice someplace?"

"Uhh..." Lisa's eyes strayed to Dean, and it was evident she was somewhat unsure about serving alcohol to their clearly under-aged guest, "...sure, Nate. It's in the cabinet over there, I'll just..."

"No, no, no - I can get it. Don't sweat it." Nate pushed away from the table once more as Lisa moved to get out of her seat and sauntered into the kitchen area. Lisa turned to Dean.

"So who is this kid? Really?" She leant in to address her husband in a low tone as they watched Nate serve herself a full glass of whiskey and drop a couple ice cubes into it.

"If I told you she was from the future, would you believe it?"

"Uhhh...not really."

"'Nuff said." Dean and Lisa returned to their normal positions and resumed eating as Nate slumped into her seat, her countenance seeming noticeably brighter as she gulped at her drink.

Ben let out a low whistle, "Wow Dad, she even puts _you_ to shame."

"Benjamin." Lisa admonished, and the boy shrugged.

"S'true."

Nate, just as well, was oblivious to the subtle dialogue as she continued to lavish her drink with her full attention. The food on her plate remained untouched.

"So um how long have you known Dean and Sam?" Lisa pushed the jug of juice towards Dean, who turned up his nose and reached over Nate to place it in Sam's outstretched hands.

"'Bout five years now." Nate seemed immensely more relaxed and unzipped her jacket, pulling it off and hanging it on the chair behind her - revealing her plain black overshirt...and a smattering what looked like cigarette burns dotting her lower arms, "We've worked jobs together every now and then...but I prefer to go it alone. Less hassle." Here she tossed Dean a pointed look, and he smiled acidly in response.

"I see." Lisa sipped at her juice and her eyes flicked to Sam, who was wearing his classic pensive face and staring at Nate as though he was about to cry. Lisa's curiosity switched lanes into determination and she set her drink down with a slight thud, "So, uh, how long will you be town?"

"Well I got a one-month temp job here, so..." Nate's tumbler glass was down to empty now and she scrubbed a hand through her thick dark mane and rested a foot on the edge of the empty seat adjacent her, "Just passing through."

"Working toward college?" Ben scraped a second helping of potatoes onto his plate and glanced slyly at his parents as he voiced the question.

Nate gave a weary half-smile, "Five years from now, none of that stuff is gonna mean squat. Figured it was just a waste of time."

"Well you're wrong there," Dean pulled the lid off the beer bottle Sam had brought him, "A good education matters." Here he tossed Ben a pointed look, and Nate's smile remained.

"In the here and now - but that ain't all there is."

"Well amen to that, sister!" Ben thudded the handle of his fork against the table, and Lisa flashed him a look.

"Ben."

"It's _true_!" The boy spread his hands belligerently, and Dean finished the swig of his beer that he had been taking, thudding it onto the table and leaning forward with a raise of his eyebrows.

"You really wanna have this conversation again?"

Sam and Lisa exchanged awkward expressions as Ben avoided the older Winchester's gaze uncomfortably.

"Why don't you ease up there, Deano?" Nate had pulled her flask out from her jacket and was nursing it casually.

"Why don't you get your damn foot off my chair?" The man retorted coldly.

"Dean." Lisa whispered.

Nate let her boot drop with a pointed thud.

Silence, tense and rigid, reigned across the table for a full three minutes. Finally Sam broke the ice with a gentle clearing of his throat.

"I'd better get going."

"Mind if I tag along?" Nate's eyes remained fixed in Dean's glare as she coldly pulled on her jacket, and Sam's eyebrows narrowed in surprise.

"Uh sure, it's uh...no problem." He felt Dean's scowl hot on his back as he hurried around the the table to say his goodbyes.

"Well Sam, are you sure?" Lisa queried, looking up at the tall man as he bent down to plant a kiss on her cheek, "I mean, we have plenty of room here."

"No, it's okay. Ben's room is empty. Look thanks for dinner, alright?" Sam squeezed her shoulder and she patted his hand with a befuddled expression.

"No problem."

"See you around, Ben." Sam ruffled the boy's hair, and Ben twisted in his chair to grace his 'uncle' with a desperate expression.

"You guys could stick around a little longer! It's only eight o'clock!"

"No, we uh, we gotta get going. Besides, you've got school tomorrow." Sam skirted around Dean's smouldering gaze as he headed for the door with one final wave, "See y'all later."

"Thanks for dinner, Lisa." Nate zipped up her jacket and addressed Lisa singularly as she followed after Sam, "Nice meeting you."

"And you, Nate." Lisa called, and before she had even finished her sentence, the front door slammed behind the pair of leave-takers.

Lisa, Dean and Ben sat in silence for a moment before the chiming clock in the kitchen struck out. One note, two, three...

"I got homework." Ben was the first one up from the table.

"You've got _dishes_. It's your night." Lisa was second, with a reminder that her work was done as she stood up and cupped Dean's shoulder in her hand.

"Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Don't you mean an hour?" Dean was in no mood to be soft-pedalled, and the manner in which he pushed off from his chair while finishing the last inch of his beer gave every indication of that fact.

"What?" Lisa scrunched up her nose as they headed into the hallway.

Dean opened the door to the living room for her and nodded her through, "Never mind. What's up?"

"Well that was kind of my question." Lisa folded her arms across her white cotton fleece as she sank into the sofa and raised an eyebrow at her husband, "What exactly is that deal with this Nate girl?"

Dean let out a low, gravelly laugh as he shut the door behind them, "Trust me on this one, Lisa, you just really don't wanna know."

"Which is French for I just really don't wanna tell you."

He rolled his eyes and circled the room, checking each of the windows to ensure they were locked. The Winchester-Braeden residence may have appeared easy enough to penetrate, but looks were, in this case, deceiving. The windows, doors and sideboards were custom-made with hollows full of rock salt lines. The doormats and floor rugs were embroidered with miniscule charms and undersided with Devil's Traps and Keys of Solomon. Every water source in the house had a subtle crucifix sanctifying the faucet. The cutlery was silver and the doorknobs were iron.

Nate had been right - the house was, for all intents and purposes, an impregnable fortress when it came to the supernatural. That, of course, had been Dean's plan from the start. He still owed Bobby for the older hunter's contributions to securing the perimeter.

"Seriously, Dean. She shows up out of the blue proclaiming she's from the future and that she's here to help you out. But other then that, what do you know about her?" Lisa rested an elbow on her crossed knees and flailed a hand for emphasis.

"She's bad freakin' news, that's what." Dean mumbled in response as he pulled aside the assidualed net curtain to peer into the yard, "Don't let me forget to turn the sprinklers on, alright?"

Lisa frowned, "So if you're so sure she's trouble, why'd you have her over here for dinner?"

"That," Dean practically spat out the word, "was _Sammy's_ idea. Not one of his best, I might add. Kinda like his choice o' location for our anniversary."

Lisa shrugged with a small, fond smile, "I dunno. I thought Napa Valley was sort of...cute."

The older Winchester's eyebrows arched and he pointed at his wife, "Don't think I don't know you paid him off. Sam was all set on Palm Springs before you two went out for a _cocktail_."

"So Sam's thinks she's trustworthy?" Lisa returned the conversation to the topic at hand as she leant back against the pillows and fisted the side of her temple, "And...you don't."

"Sam would think a _tree_ _stump_ was reliable if it used four syllable words and quoted Voltaire." Dean pulled the curtains shut and flicked on the outside lights, "I don't think she's a liar - just don't think she's tellin' us the whole truth, is all. Better safe than sorry."

Lisa quirked her eyebrows, "What do you think she's hiding?"

"Well for one thing," Dean took a seat next to her and placed a casual hand on her thigh as Lisa looked to him earnestly, "she's pretty closed off about the demon payin' her bills. Plus Sam and I stopped by her home in Peak Mont this afternoon and she nearly blew our heads off."

"Maybe Nate likes her privacy." Lisa shrugged, "I don't see the big deal. You and Sam get huffy if anyone besides Bobby or Cas even _breathe_ in the direction of me and Ben."

"That's different." Dean disagreed as he fiddled with the knob on the reading lamp over their heads before scowling up at his wife, "And we don't get _huffy_. We get _cautious_. There's a difference."

"So you keep saying." Lisa ran delicate fingers through Dean's scruffy hair, "What exactly is it that you think she's got to hide?"

It was then that the hunter grew sober, straightening in his seat and placing his arm around the back of the couch to entrap Lisa's shoulders, his eyes trained vacantly on the floor at his feet.

"Sam and I saw her twelve year old meatsuit walkin' around. It was...I dunno...she has it rough, you know?"

"How so?" That infernal motherly concern seeped into Lisa's voice at the statement.

Dean shrugged, "Mom's a drunk. Saw her smacking the kid around. Nate shut us down the second she found out we were there."

"That _is_ different." Lisa hadn't switched sides - merely recognized the issue for what it was. She pulled her knees up on the couch and twisted to face Dean, "You guys are gonna do something, right?"

"I'm gonna swing by the house tomorrow, just to make sure we got it right. That's why Sam's got Nate at his place now, keepin' in her in the dark. We sort of engineered it, I guess. There's somethin' else though."

"What?" Lisa smiled though her eyebrows furrowed curiously, and Dean scrubbed a hand across his face with a weary sigh.

"Turns out Sam 'n I actually ran into Nate's mom on this crazy hunt 'bout thirteen years back."

Lisa was silent for a moment, "Oh."

"S'what _I_ said."

Another minute of quiet, this time longer. Lisa once again piped up in a small voice.

"So...you think she might be yours?"

"What? No!" Dean cast his wife a horrified glance, "_God_ no. I mean I may've screwed a few winos in my time, but grade-A geeks? That was _Sam's_ terf."

"I thought you said this woman was a _drunk_!" Lisa appeared confused by the flood of information, and Dean let out a sardonic snort.

"_Now_ she is - back then she was four-eyed and had Law School stamped on her freakin' forehead."

"I see." Lisa seemed to sag in relief at that before glancing back up at her husband, "So Nate's Sam's then?"

Dean gave an indifferent shrug that belied the tension in his eyes.

"It's a possibility."


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorry its been AGES - not for lack of inspiration (Tyler works best when under insane amounts of stress and emotional depravation lol), but from simple lack of internet. Anyway, here's the next addition. Great reviews so far - keep'em coming! _

_- Tyler_

* * *

Sam felt his boots crunching the light November snow underfoot as he and Nate trudged through the parking lot of his apartment complex, the lights from the street lamps and the fencing bathing everything in a bizarrely soft shade of orange.

Nate Winters walked silently alongside him, and Sam couldn't help but notice the almost incredulously sarcastic look the young girl was sporting as she took in her surroundings.

Sam finally scoffed out a laughing breath when Nate shook her head, "What?"

"This is all just..." She batted a hand in front of her while searching for the appropriate word, "...I dunno."

"Seedy?" Sam suggested.

"I was going for _utopian_." Nate's choice of term surprised Sam, and the scrunching of his eyebrows suggested as much.

"I'm not seeing a whole lot of Mooreish euphoria around."

Nate sneered to herself with another shake of her head as they reached the lobby of the apartment building, "You kidding me? A tranquil walk through a quiet, snow-covered car park," She nodded across the street, "Neighbours sayin' hi and taking out their trash. Hot young chicks jogging with their cocker spaniels." She laughed and reached into her pocket, pulling out her flask and unscrewing the cap, "Say goodbye to all those things in half a decade, Sam, cuz they're gonna be about as rare as snow on Tatoween."

"Yeah I'll bet." Sam paused and glanced down at the girl, "Did I just hear a Star Wars reference there?"

Nate shrugged and swigged back a gulp from her flask, "I'm a sucker for Han Solo. Call me a geek."

"No it's uh..." Sam looked down and laughed to himself, "...a first, that's all."

The girl took another gulp from the flask and then held it out to Sam, "Look, thanks for bailing me out back there. Your brother can be one scary Papa Bear."

"No problem." Sam accepted the flask and sipped it, then winced as he swallowed, "What is this, cleaning solution?"

"It's my own personal blend. Can't exactly skip down to 7-11 where I'm from if you catch my drift."

Sam grimaced at the acidic aftertaste and handed her back the flask, "I'm amazed you still have insides. Come on."

"Actually I gotta make tracks." The girl's statement had Sam halting in his steps and turning, hand poised on his keys. Nate squinted in what was almost an apologetic manner, "I...kinda just wanted to throw your brother off my scent. Call me when you flag down Crowley."

"Whoa, whoa, hold on a second." Sam stepped in Nate's way as she turned to leave, "No more disappearing acts, okay? Let's be grown ups."

"Houdini _was_ a grown-up." She protested as she backed up a few steps, and Sam raised his eyebrows threateningly. Nate sighed and rolled her eyes.

"You'd _better_ have cable." She brushed past Sam as the man unlocked the door and stood aside.

He paid no attention to the quip, his face set in harsh-stocked stone as he stared at the woman standing across the street at the head of the parking lot. She was cloaked in shadow, but Sam's eyes saw her. Sam could spot her kind a mile away.

Meg's eyes gleamed yellow in the blackness, and her brown waves of hair were tangled with wind and wet with snow, bustling around her shoulders. Her hands were embedded deep into the pockets of her jacket, and the heels of her ankle boots twirled back and forth across the sludge.

"You coming?" Nate queried, and Sam turned from her curious expression back to the shadows. The yellow eyes were gone - and so was Meg, for now at least. But Sam knew now that the demon was close by...and observing his interaction with Nate Winters very, very closely.

Lucky for Sam, Dean had insisted on giving his little brother's apartment the same security system as his own - despite Sam's protests that it was totally unnecessary. Dean had won the war when he'd refused to let Ben stay at the apartment unless Sam caved.

Needless to say, Sam caved, and even though the landlady had initially given him crap about the new windows, doors, bathroom tiles and floorboards, it only took one look at the workmanship to make her kiss Sam's ass for the Better Homes and Gardens makeover.

"Nice crib." Nate had already hung up her jacket on the coat rack by the time Sam shut and locked the door behind them, "Gotta say it's refreshing to see a dwelling place that's a little more familiar."

"By familiar you mean _abandoned_?" Sam shrugged off his heavy jacket and tossed it over the back of the sofa. Nate threw him a grimace from over her shoulder as she studied the three picture frames hung on the wall.

"_Derelict_, actually. Though I take it you don't spend much time here." She returned her gaze to the pictures, standing on her tiptoes to get a better view, "No prizes for guessing who hung these."

"Huh?" Sam queried distractedly, busy in his task of closing the curtains.

"I said she's got your brother's eyes." Nate finally gave up trying to reach eye-level with the framed photo and removed it from its hook, "This chick. It's Mary, right? Your mom?"

Sam's face fell and his countenance grew heavy and pensive, "Yeah." He spoke the word after a moment of quiet before taking the picture out of Nate's hand and returning it to the wall hook.

"So...this is as deep as roots grow for a hunter in '15, huh." Nate examined the sparsely-decorated yet clean front room, which consisted of a kitchenette and stove, a brown leather love couch with two arm chairs to match, a worn-looking coffee table, and a writing desk with a rolling chair shoved in the corner.

"I'm guessing that was a present." The girl pointed to the large, flat screen plasma TV on a shiny new stand that also cased an XBox, and Sam glanced up from the kitchen area where he was poking in the fridge.

"No that stuff is Ben's. He just leaves it here so he doesn't have to listen to me drone on about the lasting affects of the Boer Wars."

Nate narrowed her eyes, "What is that, like a computer game or something?"

Sam contemplated a dozen responses before he settled for retrieving two beers from the fridge and closing it behind him, "So I guess you were serious about the whole dropping out of school thing."

"Nah I just said that for the heck of it. My mom blew my college fund by the time I was four and the only high school I could get into was so goddawful I decided to bail." Nate was examining a dream catcher that hung from a curtain rod, "What about you? You never think about going back to Stanford and finishing your law degree?"

If Sam was surprised by the intel, he didnt show it as he handed the girl a beer, "Here, better than that crap you're drinking." He missed her shrug as he turned to sink into the couch, "No. The law and I have had too many run-ins over the years for me to take it seriously as a profession. Plus I have other obligations to society on a slightly higher par than locking up drunks."

"Alcoholism is a sickness, not a crime." Nate rolled her eyes as she took a seat in one of the armchairs and nursed her beer.

"That hit a little close to home?" Sam quirked an eyebrow, and Nate gave him a cold glare.

"You and Dean had no business staking out my house like that. I _told_ you who I was."

"Did you really expect us to just buy it without a question?" Sam demanded, "In case you haven't noticed, Dean and I don't exactly have a whole lot to go on in the way of trustworthy acquaintances."

"That's fine. Just stay away from my mom and my kid self. You want to dissect someone's modus operandi, you can take a shot at _me_." Nate stood up from the couch and headed towards her jacket, thumping the empty beer onto the coffee table on her way past Sam, "Thanks for the beer."

"You meeting up with Meg?" Sam's words paused the girl in her tracks as she approached the door, "Or Oplexicon?"

Sam watched her closely, the squaring of her shoulders, the tilting of her head.

"Like it or not, you're in over your head." Sam drove his point deep on home as he rose to his feet, "You can't play _everybody_, Nate..."

"No?" She snapped quietly over her shoulder, eyes still avoiding his.

"_No_. Believe me, that trust nobody philosophy? It's a load of crap."

"Yeah?" She finally turned at that statement from the hunter, eyes loaded with enough ammo to kill, "From your cushy little corner, maybe..."

"Cushy?" Sam had to raise his eyebrows in bewilderment at the apparent insult - and then scoff in amusement for good measure, "Let me tell you something about my _corner_, kid..."

"Oh spare me the drama, Sam!" Nate took a step forward, "You've got a brother who's died for you and would do it again in a heartbeat. You've got one of Heaven's most powerful angels wrapped around your finger and you've got the keys to the Devil's fucking cage. Now how does that not spell _cushy_?"

Sam eyed the carpet quietly, "You've got no idea what you're talking about."

"Shut up." The girl pointed a finger at him sharply, and Sam felt a growing serpent of frustrated anger coiling up inside of him. But then he sensed it...

...And reacted instantaneously, diving into Nate and pulling her to the floor as a shower of glass hailed down on them. A shattered window pane scattered remains across the carpeting and floorboards, landing nasty-looking shards over Sam's jacket and in Nate's thick mane of hair. The former recovered first, shaking himself free of the most malicious fragments and grabbing Nate by the shoulders as she attempted to do likewise.

"What the hell?" She yelled, but Sam was unable to answer her as a muffled groan of unexpected pain ground out through his grit teeth. A heavy weight crushed his shoulder blades and back momentarily, and then the pain was gone as quickly as it had come.

"Thanks for that." A man's voice sounded, British yet on a higher par than Crowley's Manchester rasp. Sam and Nate scrambled to turn around amidst the smatter of broken glass to behold the intruder who had managed to penetrate the Winchester's security system, "This place is almost impossible to penetrate. Almost, of course."

"Who the hell are you?" Sam was on his feet quickly, fists curled by his side and back muscles taut. The distinguished-looking gentleman (although Sam was certain this intruder was neither) appeared to be in his late forties. He was tall and thin and had for all intents and purposes the appearances of an undertaker - gaunt, pale cheeks that sported solemn features, a long overcoat and tux complete with fetching dress shoes, and a clean-shaven skull.

"Who I _am_ is none of your concern. It's who I'm here to _see_ that might be inconvenient." The pale man nodded at Nate Winters, who had risen to her feet and was wiping some blood from the corner of her lip.

Sam narrowed his eyes in understanding, "Oplexicon."

The man tipped his forehead coldly, "Pleasure."

* * *

_Cicero, Indiana  
_

Sam stood, muscles bunched under his flesh like revving wheels on a Humvee, watching the tall, thin archdemon lock eyes with the girl standing to Sam's right. Nate Winters was stiff and rigid as Sam, though she managed to summon up enough obstinacy to launch a guarded reproach.

"Were the _theatrics_ really necessary?"

"_You_ are in violation of our terms." Oplexicon stated casually, hands clasped behind him as he paced a few footsteps to the right, "Arms reach at all times."

"I think I still have cell reception."

"I've heard enough of this." Sam ground out quietly, and in an instant the hunter had drawn the demon-slaying knife and was suddenly behind Oplexicon. His arm was caught in its descent and twisted, and Sam was thrown across the room with enough force to crack the plaster with his back as he struck the wall and landed on his stomach.

Nate glared at Oplexicon, "Again with the dramatics."

"Watch yourself, Winters." The demon moved at lightening speed to invade the girl's personal space, "You're over the line as it is."

"You don't draw the fucking _line_..."

"Enough." Oplexicon ordered sharply, cutting Nate off mid-sentence, "Your time is short. You've been drawing on my power for two weeks now and what have you got to show for it?"

"Meg's going down..." Nate began to protest, her eyes flickering to where Sam was drawing himself slowly off the ground, wincing from internal pain.

"That isn't the only facet of our deal, nor is it the most important!" The archdemon hissed, losing his cool for a moment as he leant into Nate's face, "You agreed to the terms of payment, and I except you to deliver!"

"I will." Nate's teeth were clenched, and Oplexicon's eyebrows arched.

"You'd better."

"I said I _will_!" She snapped loudly, and Sam approached the two attempting to straighten and guarding his injured left side heavily.

"What's your angle?" He wiped at blood from his mouth with the back of his hand as Oplexicon eyed him coldly, "Huh? What, you out to eliminate the competition?"

"Meg Masters is hardly _competition_." The suave archdemon graced Sam with a tolerant look, "In fact I'd say she's not even on par with you _Winchesters_...although she does manage to take _Dean_ out of the picture."

"That's not gonna happen." Sam assured him with a grim smile, and the demon returned the gesture.

"Oh I think it will. But I'll be watching very closely should it not."

"What's that supposed to mean?" The younger Winchester snarled, and here Oplexicon's smile promptly vanished.

"It means exactly that, you miserable excuse for a human." The demon's walls dropped for a moment, and it was then that Sam glimpsed the raw hatred burning beneath the indifferent veneer. Clearly Oplexicon was of the same calibre as Lucifer when it came to his contempt of the race his Father had created, "Your brother doesn't have a single Get Out of Hell Free card left up his sleeve. His very _existence_ is an abomination."

"Well talk about the pot calling the kettle black." Nate muttered, and the demon turned on her with furious eyes.

"You stay out of this, Winters. You're in deep enough water as it is!"

She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, unfolding her arms from where they had been crossed over her chest and taking a step forward to stand alongside Sam, "Guess I can play as dirty as I want to then."

"Your immunity has limits," Oplexicon seemed hardly fazed by the show of bravado, "as does my patience. Time is _leaking_ through the portal I tore for you; do you realize how this affects…"

"…the fabric of the universe?" The girl raised both eyebrows menacingly, "I couldn't give a _shit_."

"Whoa, wait a second." Sam held up a hand to silence Nate as she inhaled to launch a fresh tirade, "What does that mean, time is leaking? _How_ does that affect us?"

"I think your most pressing concern should be why haven't I killed you yet?" The demon enunciated each of the last six words he spoke with excruciating clarity, and Sam narrowed his eyes at the threat.

"Because unlike Nate here, my immunity doesn't have _limits_," The younger Winchester informed the archdemon coldly, "At least not ones that _you_ can overstep – and we both know it."

Oplexicon cocked his head, "Or perhaps I am not the person whom you should be afraid of." Here his eyes flickered briefly to Nate, who graced him with an icy scowl and rolled her eyes in silence.

"Days are burning out faster – your time is running low." Oplexicon turned on his heels and addressed the girl over his shoulder, "Do what you have to do and be quick about it."

The room was emptied of its mysterious visitor as quickly as it had been occupied.

Sam turned slowly on Nate, who was watching the hunter with wide, defensive eyes.

His jaw locked and his forehead flattened into a matter-of-fact expression, "Now would be a _really_ good time for the truth."

SUPERNATURAL

"There's A Hole in My Bucket."

_Cicero, Indiana_:

"I gotta go." Nate Winters didn't acknowledge Sam's demand as she turned to head swiftly for the front door…in front of which a heavy wooden desk was suddenly slid by an invisible force. She stopped but didn't turn, instead glancing at the ceiling with cold determination.

"You know, if all your paranormal motor skills are in such ship shape, you could've at _least've_ knocked Plexie for a loop. He was pissing me off."

"I want to know about your deal with him." Sam was in no mood for her snark, waving another hand and shoving an armchair into the back of her knees. Nate stumbled into the seat and felt her wrists pinned to the arms of the couch.

She glared at the tall hunter now standing over her, "Now we're springing Devil's Traps for _humans_?"

"I don't know – what exactly did you say you were again?" Sam pulled up a chair from the dining table and straddled it backwards, resting his arms atop the high back and giving Nate a pointed look as he voiced his question.

"Well clearly I'm some Super Demonic force encased in an exceptionally fine meatsuit who is able to breeze through Keys of Solomon and down pints of Holy Water without breaking a sweat!"

"Answer," Sam's voice rang loud and dangerous, "the question."

"I'm _human_, you idiot!" Nate returned the tone, "I mean maybe you're having a hard time dealing with the fact that a regular person can be so brass tacks, but news flash? Not all bitches are demons!"

"What were the terms of your deal?" Sam's eyes were narrow slits and his boots drummed against the floorboard, "Assuming you _are_ just an ordinary girl, you must've dangled some pretty sweet meat in front of an archdemon to get him playing on your team."

Winters smiled acidly, obviously hating the disadvantage that Sam had placed on her, "Maybe I just give really good head."

Sam remained unamused.

Nate sighed, "Look, we can play Stare Down all night long, or we can quit wasting the window of time we have to save Dean's life. Your call."

Sam smirked at that one, "Yeah? Well just so you know, that line's been thrown at me too many times to count. I'm not swallowing that hook again."

Winters furrowed her brows in bewilderment, "Were you dropped on your head as a child? You're a complete _moron_ if you seriously think I'm coming from the same playing field as _Ruby_."

Sam flinched visibly as the name was spoken. Nate seemed fully aware of the discomfort she was causing the hunter as she continued.

"I know about her. _Everyone_ knows. How you let her lead you around by the nose and ended up springing Lucifer from Hell? It's textbook knowledge, Sam. You triggered the Apocalypse."

Sam swallowed and dropped his head for a moment before he regained his composure – and his eye contact with Nate, "Why is Oplexicon helping you?"

"Does it look like I'm being _assisted_ here?" The girl opened her captive palms, "Clearly he and I aren't on the best of terms!"

"You know what I meant."

She sighed and leant back in her seat for a moment.

"It was a typical deal." Her voice was quiet, "I sold him my soul."

"Why would an archdemon want your soul?" Sam pressed.

"The same reason they want everyone else's." Nate was suddenly on the defensive once more, her walls shut up tight, "It's power, Sam. It puts a fallen angel's gas tank out of the red zone – why do you think Crossroads Demons never run out of juice to deliver on a deal? Speaking of Crossroads demons," She switched topics as smooth as butter, "I was serious about getting Crowley to fence Meg a fake. He may not be the king of straight, but that'll fit Meg's crooked hole like a lightening bolt."

Sam winced at the vivid description, "Were you always this foul-mouthed?"

"No." Nate drummed her fingers against the leather of the sofa, "As a matter of fact I was a straight A student until I got in with the wrong crowd and started taking _drugs_."

"That's not funny." Try as he might, Sam could no longer ignore the very real possibility that Nate Winters might be the offspring of his week with Geri. And if that were indeed the case…Sam was less than impressed with the job his former lover appeared to have done (or _not_ done, as the case seemed to be) as far as instilling morality of any kind in his purported daughter.

"Neither is Hell, which is all I've got to look forward to as reimbursement for my altruistic tendencies." Nate smiled bitterly, "So how about cutting a doomed girl some slack and letting me stretch my legs?"

Sam eyed her severely for a long, long moment, before his lips pressed together in compliance. Nate lifted a wrist and scratched her nose with a dramatic show of satisfaction.

"Thank you. That itch was getting nasty."

"So why Crowley?" Sam stood up from his chair to head for another beer. Winters knit her eyebrows as she picked up her empty beer bottle and then shrugged as she reproduced her flask.

"Told you. He's bent as a pounded nail, which should go down like a cheap trick in a back alley. We need him to convince Meg he's the real deal with the stuff we're going slip her."

"Right and uh what _stuff_ is that exactly?" Sam raised his eyebrows suspiciously as he popped the cap of his beer and motioned at Nate with his head.

"I dunno yet. I was thinking steroids but then I figured anti-depressants might be better suited for Montana this time of year." She didn't bat an eye as she proclaimed the rather immoral suggestion. Sam's brow creased incredulously.

"Montana?"

"Well it's her first big break, that state." Nate swallowed the mouthful of alcohol she was swigging before continuing, "Mm, speaking of which, I'm gonna need you to call your little angel pal off my back. I gotta fly under the radar for the next 24 hours."

"Cas isn't some puppet on our string." The younger Winchester reminded her somewhat reproachfully, "Until he trusts you he's gonna keep all the tabs he wants."

"Well clearly you sicced him on me – so sic him _off_ me."

"What've you got to hide?" Sam questioned bluntly, and Nate gave him a cold look.

"I need a Personal Day."

"Family issues?" Sam's eyes were almost sympathetic, and apparently it made her sick. She stood up from her chair with disgust burning in her eyes.

"Were the words 'stay out of my business' not direct enough for you? Maybe I should tattoo it to my forehead!"

"Great. It'll fit in wonderfully with the rest of the marks you've got all over you!" Sam snapped up at her, and her lips coiled into a closed-mouth snarl which suggested she was an inch off from laying a slug. Instead Nate inhaled sharply and headed for the broken window.

"I don't need this shit."

"Then maybe you should try a little _honesty_." Sam was on his feet now too and following the girl as she kicked at the shards of glass still jutting out of the window pane.

"Go fuck yourself, Sam, how's _that_ for honesty?" Nate was busy attempting to clamber through the window pane, her boots sliding on the broken salt lines and melting snow, the freezing night air whipping at her hair and blowing tiny shards of glass into her face.

Sam rolled his eyes and swooped out a giant arm, lifting the 120 pound girl off the ledge without much difficulty, though she didn't make it smooth sailing by grabbing onto the panelling and attempting to pull herself free.

"Cut it out!" Sam warned as the struggle continued, and Nate squirmed fiercely in his grip.

"Let _go_!"

"Look, you're in no condition to be jumping out of windows!"

"I said let _go_!" Nate yelled, and the next thing Sam knew a bony elbow was being jabbed into his windpipe – at least, that's where he assumed she was aiming…terrible shot of course. Her other attack hit its mark though; a sharp heel up between his legs. He buckled but again the shot had been poor and Sam managed to pry Nate, kicking and squirming, away from the window. He dumped her roughly on the couch and shoved her down the moment she attempted to get up.

"What the hell is your problem?" She demanded in a high-pitched, whiny voice, and Sam found himself involuntarily reacting to the tone.

"What's _my_ problem? You're trying to climb out of a five-story window _drunk_!"

Nate went deadly quiet and glared at him viciously from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, "M'not _drunk_." She mumbled between grit teeth, and it was Sam's turn for a sardonic glare, only his had the added affect of a half-smirk in the mix.

"Oh really? So I guess the half litre of 40 percent you just downed's inciting rational thinking."

The girl's jaw clenched and she looked away in contempt, but made no further remark.

Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, turning away from Nate and attempting to collect his thoughts. She remained silent for a moment longer before she spoke quietly.

"My mom is going to die soon unless I do something. I know…I mean I understand it's a tight fit but I can still make it in time to help you save Dean, I just…I need to try."

"Let us help you." Sam offered, and Nate raised her eyebrows huffily.

"I'm _trying_ to. I asked to you keep Castiel off my back!"

"That's not the kind of help I mean and you know it." Sam responded wryly, and she rolled her eyes with a shake of her head.

"I fight my own battles when I'm able, Sam. But thanks for nothing." She stood up a little shakily and raised a hand to halt Sam in his tracks, "You hear that?"

Sam glanced quickly towards the broken window pane and cursed himself at having been too distracted to see to its immediate securing. An angry rumbling, like the sound of a thousand tornados swirling at once, was growing louder and louder by the second, and the wind picked up speed and lashed fiercely around them.

"Is it a storm?" Nate yelled over the noise, looking up at Sam with something akin to fear in her eyes.

"I wish!" He grabbed Nate's wrist and pulled the girl behind him as he broke into a run, throwing open one of the cupboards to reveal a miniature demonic panic room, "Get inside! Hurry!"

"Wait!" She cried as she stumbled against the winds and snatched up her rucksack from its position on the floor. As she turned to make for the panic room, a giant cloud of black smoke, crackling and murderous, billowed through the window and engulfed her.

"Nate!" Sam yelled, watching in horror as the demon cloud breezed swiftly out of the window as quick as it had come – leaving only destruction in its wake…

And no sign of Nate Winters.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Nice guys. No reviews, not a singe one? I know we're all busy but a little feedback wouldn't go down sideways. And am I the only one who thought that all in all Exile on Main Street was an epic failure? I'm hoping it's just them finding their new feet...because otherwise I fear Miss Sera has ruined the ONLY show I'm watching :(. _**

**_- Tyler_**

* * *

Lisa shifted restlessly, attempting to scout out a comfortable position in the king-sized bed she shared with Dean – who of course never failed to occupy three-fourths of it in his long-acquired habit of smothering Lisa with an arm (or a leg, or often both).

Sometimes she wished he would just stick to his own damn side of the bed…but most of the time Lisa was honest enough with her herself to admit that she enjoyed Dean's warmth enveloping her through the night. Something about it made her feel secure – when she wasn't feeling smothered, that is. The two often went hand in hand with Dean Winchester.

The naked branches on the tree overhanging their bedroom window were scratching against the glass again, creating a rambling of unsettling noises that Lisa had forced herself to grow accustomed to because Dean was always promising to prune the blasted tree, but had never yet gotten around to it.

Lisa sighed, shifting onto her back and banging her head against the soft pillow that cushioned it. She bit her lip in frustration at being unable to sleep and then stole a sideways glance at her husband. Dean was dreaming again, his eyelids fluttering slightly with the movement of his pupils as they roved an imaginary plane.

Then again, nothing in Dean or Sam's dreams was ever usually _imaginary_. They had experienced enough of the extraordinary to be perpetually plagued by some echo of their past whenever sleep overtook them.

Dean groaned and stirred, his eyebrows knit and his jaw clenched tightly. Lisa glanced down at the hand tightening around her wrist and acted quickly, reaching out and shaking Dean's shoulder.

"Dean."

The grip on her wrist persisted. Lisa shook harder.

"_Dean_."

"Huh." He jolted awoke in unison with the pealing of his cell phone that buzzed against the wooden bedside desk on which it rested.

Lisa's eyebrow rose, "You okay?"

Dean scrubbed some sleep from his eyes, "Didn't hurt you, did I?" He rolled over to reach for his phone.

"I'm fine." Lisa rested her back against the headboard and rubbed Dean's shoulder as he squinted at the caller ID before flipping open his cell phone.

"Sammy, what's up?"

* * *

"I'm telling you, Dean, this archdemon or whatever he is? He's out for your neck."

"We don't know that." Dean attempted to reason with (more like placate) his younger brother as they cruised down the road, the trusty hum of the Impala thrumming beneath their boots.

"Oh really? Cuz after his little dialogue about your very existence being an abomination, I'd say we're pretty damn sure." Sam was less volatile than he used to be – Dean as well, for that matter. It was rare that the Impala witnessed a full-on shouting match nowadays – not ones on the same tempo as their spats of previous years, at any rate. The brothers stuck mostly to mellow tones and guarded phraseology in their debates, and the glaring familiarity that resulted from years spent in each other's company on a daily basis was more or less absent.

But every now and then, the Winchesters would find themselves back in the rink, sparring for opposite causes. And much as neither of them would care to admit it…it was part of what made them brothers.

"Look, obviously we've got a lot of enemies. We can't just bunker down in Bobby's Panic Room every time one of them voices a grudge!" Dean turned up the heat in the Impala and overtook a snow plough returning from its rounds on the darkened highway.

"I'm not suggesting _we_ bunker down, Dean! _You're_ the one he's after – I'm just asking you to lay low for a couple days…"

"Sam, I got Ben and Lisa to think about now and I can't just…"

"I'm sorry, Dean, but you _have_ to!" Sam barked out the words with all the tenacity of his younger years.

"I don't have to do _squat_, Sammy, okay? Especially not hole up in some bomb shelter for a week with my thumbs up my ass because some _demon_ doesn't _like_ me!"

"_Arch_demon!"

"Yeah well whatever, m'still not doin' it."

Sam growled in his throat and shook his head, turning to glare out the window. Dean cast a sidelong glance at his brother and rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Sammy, don't be like that." Dean still hated seeing his little brother upset – especially when there was nothing to be done about it. The years of grieving for Sam had left their scars and if the younger Winchester had been a sensitive spot for Dean in years past…

Well, now he was an open wound.

"Sam?" Dean risked another look away from the snowy road, "C'mon, quit sulking, would ya?"

Sam huffed under his breath and muttered something to the affect of incredulity at Dean labelling his actions 'sulking'.

Dean pressed further, "Seriously, dude, I mean for all we know you're a _parent_ now. Parents are _mature_…"

"Dean!" Sam protested angrily as he turned his glare on his brother – who smiled contentedly.

"Gotcha."

Sam shook his head as he returned his gaze to the window pane, "You're unbelievable."

"Been said, sweetheart." Dean winked before growing sober as the unsettled silence ensued once more, "So I take it you're thinking Nate is with Meg?"

"It's the only logical option. Any other demon would've made a grab at _me_. Meg's the only one who knows Nate's involved in bigger game." Sam's face grew more grim than angry as he spoke.

Dean raised his eyebrows in a facial shrug, "Unless someone else is in on the whole illegitimate daughter possibility and is out to kick us in the nads."

Sam glanced over at his brother's plural terminology, "You know this is _my_ problem, Dean. I mean even if Nate is really…" He swallowed awkwardly, "…I mean, if she does turn out to be…"

"Man would you listen to yourself." Dean laughed wryly at his little brother's discomfort, and Sam's countenance grew offended.

"I'm just saying this isn't your problem, Dean. I can handle it…"

"Yeah sure, that's why you're callin' me at three in the morning."

"Because I'm worried, Dean! I'm worried that you're somehow gonna get caught in the crossfire and end up dead."

"Why don't you let _me_ worry about me, okay Sam?" Dean stated flatly.

"Because I _can't_!" Sam announced in frustration, and Dean had to swallow at a lump in his throat at the words. He wished he could dismiss it as paranoia but the hard cold fact was that Dean knew exactly what his brother was trying to say.

Sam appeared to have given up trying to push Dean any further, and was slumped back in his seat, eyes watching the snowflakes splatter against the window pane. Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed before continuing.

"Look, laying low never did us any good, alright? I say we find Nate and then we make her talk, get to the bottom of all this crap."

"Good luck there." Sam muttered jadedly.

"He's right." Castiel's voice suddenly piped up from the backseat, and both brothers gave heavy sighs at the start they received, "Finding Winters is going to be like locating a needle in a haystack full of demons."

"I was referring to the making her talk part of the plan, but thanks for the optimism." Sam leaned over to cast a second glance behind him, "Whoa." He winced in surprise at the normally immaculate angel's bedraggled appearance, "What happened?"

"A little run-in with some of Winter's many enemies." Castiel seemed highly displeased by the encounter as he brushed some dirt from the shoulder of his trench coat, "I think I need a Dry Cleaner's."

"Demons?" Dean queried darkly.

"There are at least a hundred strong at Meg's command hunting Nate down. I'm guessing her cover's blown." Castiel wiped some blood that was not his own from his neck and grimaced in disgust, "Do either of you have a Kleenex?"

"Well that simplifies things. We just gotta find Meg and we'll find Nate. Montana here we come."

"Do we really have to take your car? I don't have all night!" Castiel complained, knowing full well the aversion Dean had to paranormal transport.

Dean's jaw grit and he cast a sidelong glance at Sam, who furrowed up his eyebrows with an apologetic shrug at his brother.

Clearly outnumbered, Dean shook his head, "Whoever said angels are incapable of bullying?" Without another word, the older Winchester shifted gears and pulled the car over onto a shoulder, "Let's just…get it over with."

* * *

Nate Winters shook her head as her eyes fluttered open. She winced and moved slowly from her crumpled foetal position on a cold wooden floor, pushing up from the floor with the elbow of her left arm and the palm of her right as she glanced, dazed, at her surroundings.

A wine cellar – a least at that was where she appeared to be for all intents and purposes. Racks of dusty bottles as far as the eye could see surrounded her, and Nate quickly rose to her feet as the sound of rustling met her ears.

A quick glance confirmed, even in the dim lighting of the cellar, that her satchel was nowhere to be found. Fighting off the urge to panic, Nate reached inside her jacket and felt no evidence of her trusty set of knives. Whoever had captured her had disarmed her thoroughly and well. Even the knife in each of her boots and the one she kept tucked up her sleeve were absent.

"Hello?" Nate called out into the unwelcoming silence that surrounded her. Her own voice bounced off walls and smacked her in the face with the tremor lurking on her tone.

"Why don't you come where I can see you, you spineless piece of shit?" Nate continued to call, backing into a wine rack and picking out a particularly hefty-looking bottle.

"A piece of shit doesn't generally come with a skeleton." Crowley stepped out from a shadow behind Nate, and she whirled around to face him, face set and fingers gripping the wine bottle tighter in her hands, "But I'm guessing that's part of the education you missed making sure Mummy had her next big hit."

Nate squinted at the demon, "You're Crowley."

"That's right." He tucked his hands into the pocket of his jacket and raised his eyebrows at the bottle in her grip, "Merlot. 1974 that one. Great taste you've got going."

Winters proceeded to smash the bottle against the rack behind her, spilling dark red wine over the ground at her feet as her eyes remained fixed coldly on the crossroads demon in front of her.

"Then again I always found it a tad too fruity." Crowley mused, and Nate raised an eyebrow.

"You know I'd _really_ rather just get my insides ripped out then stand around listening to you monologue."

Crowley looked down at his feet with a silent nod of affirmation, "So much for the pleasantries. And you humans are always claiming to be better bred."

"Breeding has _nothing_ to do with it." Nate stepped a few feet away from the spreading puddle of wine at her boots, "Life gives everybody lemons, Crowley. You guys just don't make lemonade."

"There you go again – that same, bitter diatribe." He cocked his head curiously at her, "You know what makes you tick, Winters? Cold-blooded hatred. It's what gets you through the day, isn't it?"

Nate raised her eyebrows incredulously, "You know, I'm not sure if you got the memo, but I've got an _archangel_ tethered to my ass courtesy of the Winchesters and he's one nosy bastard. You might wanna just call it a night before he sniffs me out and goes all righteous on your ass."

"Oh you mean Castiel?" Crowley smiled almost fondly, causing Nate's eyebrows to narrow in confusion, "Don't worry – we'll be done here long before he manages to infiltrate my little angelic bomb shelter. You don't really think the Winchesters have a corner on panic rooms, do you?" He cast a glance at the ceiling, "This place is solid oak soaked in Holy Oil. There's rings around every entrance – one flick of my fingers and they go up in flames. Your little angel friend won't risk it."

"The _Winchesters_ might." Nate pointed out, "Though I'm hoping they decide to go for a beer instead. The incessant _hovering_ is getting on my nerves."

"Which brings me to my next point." Crowley pulled a bottle of wine from a nearby rack and examined the label before producing two glasses from the drawer of a faded old writing desk, "When exactly are you planning on telling them the truth?"

Nate inched forward, her guard dropping slightly but her fingers still clenched around the broken bottle as she watched Crowley pour them both a drink, "The truth about what?"

"Who you really are." He sniffed the wine in his glass, swirling it around slightly and savouring the flavour, "And what you're really here to do."

Nate smiled acidly, "That's _my_ business."

"No it's not, sunshine." Crowley handed her a glass of wine, and she accepted it suspiciously, "Not while you're busy sticking your finger in everyone else's pie – my own included." He raised his glass to his lips and his eyebrows at Nate, "I _am_ the next victim in your daisy chain, aren't I? Convince Crowley to fence Meg a fake?"

"Except that you're already working with her." The girl took a gulp of her wine and grimaced at the taste, "Or does that come _after_ Meg kills Dean?"

"Meg's not killing _anybody_." Crowley stated flatly, and Nate narrowed her eyes sceptically, "I'm as much on her side as _you_ are. She's a means to an end."

"What end would _that_ be exactly?"

The crossroads demon tutted, "That's _my_ business." He raised his glass once more, "Salud."

Nate's mouth tugged upwards as Crowley sipped at his wine and smacked his lips with a satisfied sigh.

"Perfect. Just like my plan to kick the stool out from under this Oplexicon fellow of yours."

Nate choked on the next sip she'd been woofing down, "Come again?"

"I'm taking him down." Crowley said the words as though announcing he was preparing a meal as he leant against the writing desk, one hand clutching his wine glass and the other still tucked in his pocket, "It's risky business being a demon in a Satan-free world. I'm on shaky enough ground with the powers that be as is. The last thing I need is some archdemon with a grudge sending seventeen year-old ne'er-do-wells back in time to spring the devil from his cage a second time around."

The room was silent, as was Nate Winters, before she glanced up at Crowley with utter disgust in her grey eyes.

"You think I'm here to bust out _Lucifer_?"

The demon's gaze was neutral and unrelenting, "It's a suspicion."

"You know _nothing_ about me." Nate placed her empty glass onto the top of the wine rack closest to her with contempt ringing in her voice before she turned to walk away.

"Always the solution with you, isn't it, Winters? Turning your back." Crowley's call made her pause, but not turn, "So unlike your bloodline."

Her shoulders squared at the words, and Crowley seemed almost disappointed as he voiced his next statement.

"So unlike your _father_. Then again," Crowley set his glass down and picked up the wine bottle to refill it, "Sam always did suffer from the opposite problem. He never knew when to walk away."

Nate did a full about-face, her stance rigid and afraid, eyes nearly wide with the danger brimming at their core.

"What're you talking about?"

"You know, there's a definite resemblance in _character_, but as far as _looks_ go?" Crowley waved a finger at the girl, "You'll be happy to know you take after your mother."

Nate's chest was heaving with barely-contained anger but her face remained cold and dangerous, "Like I said, Crowley? You know nothing about me."

"Previously, no, but," He held up his index finger, "Meg did connect some very vital dots for me and as for the rest – well let's just say I filled in the blanks on my own. Stopped by your home in North Dakota to verify the facts…must say I didn't care for the neighbourhood."

"Yeah? Well try hustling weed on the street corner." Nate snapped, and apparently the girl had enough dignity to refrain from protesting the veracity of Crowley's findings.

"No thanks. But I gathered from watching your twelve year-old self in the act that it's not a pleasant pastime." Crowley took a step closer to Nate, and she retracted a step in response, the broken bottle in her hand rising a few inches. The demon sighed.

"Well you certainly inherited Sam's _volatility_."

"Why don't you shut your mouth?"

"Because it's always been more useful _open_." Crowley announced, "Which is more than I can say for this book of yours." At those words, he reached inside the lid of the writing desk and produced the worn-looking spell book Nate had been hoarding, "It's nothing but gibberish to the educated eye, if you get my meaning."

"Oh well then you shouldn't miss it." Nate reached out to snatch it from Crowley, who reacted quickly and disappeared from sight only to emerge behind the girl.

"Except of course for the fact that it's chock-full of black magic. Nasty stuff in here, darling. Not for little girls."

"Couldn't agree more, so you'd best just hand it over." Nate was circling him now, her eyes dancing with the promise of an attack at any given second. Crowley was less than cowed.

"Can't do that, love. You see much as I'd enjoy returning it to sender, this book has everything I need for taking out Oplexicon. Meaning you won't be seeing it for a quite a while." He tucked it safely inside his jacket and raised his eyebrows at the young girl before him, "What I _am_ going to do for you, however, is a rather magnanimous gesture of goodwill. I'm gonna get you more _time_."

The dim light of the cellar reflected off the curious gleam in Nate's grey eyes as she narrowed them and crossed her arms pensively, "Why would you do that?"

"Call it a favour." Crowley informed her, "One I may call in on at a later date. Don't worry though – I won't ask you to kill anyone. Just a simple exchange of one good turn."

"I'll pass." Nate glanced up sharply at the sound of a thud in the far corner of the room, "Expecting someone?"

"_Someones_, actually." Crowley traced a finger around the rim of his empty wine glass and tossed Nate a wry smile, "Remember those Winchesters you were telling me about? Well they've sort've been in earshot for the last five minutes or so."

Nate took a step back in complete bewilderment and disbelief, her eyes wild with that fleeting fear once more.

"You knew they were listening?" She finally whispered as her back came to rest again a wine rack, and her eyes met Crowley's with something almost on par to the pain of betrayal. Nate Winter's most guarded secret had been tossed into the sunlight like a steak on a grill.

"Well technically no…I knew they'd broken in. The listening bit was just sort of a given." Crowley was less than apologetic as he spoke, "You really have no idea how deep of a lake you're swimming in, love. It's in my interests to help you survive this, and that means showing you up for who you really are."

"You had no right." Nate bored into him with eyes full of hatred, and Crowley shrugged.

"I'm a demon, darling. And you're a Winchester." He raised his eyebrows matter-of-factly, "The only difference now is Daddy knows it."

Nate looked as though she was about to impale Crowley on the broken glass bottle in her fist.

He winked in her direction, "Good luck with the fall-out."

Sam and Dean arrived on the scene just in time to watch Crowley vanish precisely in time to avoid the bottle Nate aimed squarely at his head. It shattered against the wall in a million pieces.

Dean froze at the sea of broken glass and then glanced up at Nate.

"You okay, kid?"

Sam merely stood, silent and aloof, his face set in stone but a flurry of emotions whirling in his eyes.

Nate's expression was identical.

* * *

The atmosphere in Bobby's panic room was tense, oppressive. The chilly morning air that buffeted the sturdy old abode was lost in the humid dampness of the panic room, despite the fan that pumped air through the devil's trap/air vent above the heads of the room's occupants.

Dean was leaning against the wall, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, his green eyes loaded with a thousand worries that Bobby wished with everything inside him he'd never have to see again. It was too similar to the years Dean had spent without Sam, grieving for his little brother, agonizing over every possible angle of regret.

Only now Sam was wearing an expression fit to match. The younger Winchester's eyebrows were gathered up in a pitiable image of angst, and only the solidarity of his jaw suggested that the Sam Winchester patent stubbornness was lurking just under the surface of the man's inner turmoil.

Bobby had been privy to a great many of Sam and Dean's more intense situations over the years, but this latest revelation was more than the older man felt able to intrude upon. _Intrude_ was the perfect word for it – Bobby felt as though he was encroaching on a very volatile and very private affair that was beyond his jurisdiction as sometime surrogate father to the boys. The look on Nate Winter's face suggested she was ready to chop off whatever body part came within a meter of her position sitting at the edge of the bed, regardless of who it belonged to.

"You can't just keep me here against my will." She ground out the words, but her tone was more broken than anything else, and the hunters knew it. Dean's eyebrows flickered into a frown that could have been mistaken by an ignorant bystander as lazy.

"Yeah we'll see about that. In the meantime," He pushed off from the wall and moved closer to Nate, "Why don't you tell us what you're really here for, starting from the beginning?"

"I don't _remember_ the 'beginning' – I lost three years of memory when my mom bashed my head against a radiator edge!" Nate's eyes were trained purposefully, angrily, on the ground before her, but her words cut straight into Sam with the precision of a smart bomb, and Dean's eyes flashed up at his brother warily as Sam's pain grew even more evident.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" He breathed the words with the lingering stain of deep-rooted hurt, and Nate's head whipped up.

"Why didn't I _tell_ you? I had to sell my soul to an archdemon just to get a lead on your _whereabouts_!" She shoved off from the bed, neck craning to direct the full heat of her glare at Sam, "Why didn't I tell you? Why didn't you _know_, now _there's_ some food for thought, Mr Omniscient!"

"Alright, enough." Dean interrupted the mounting cloudburst, unfolding his arms from where he had crossed them over his chest, "We can take the family dispute to Dr Phil if you two want, but before we do, there's the issue of Nate's agenda to sort out here, okay, so why don't you put the rest on hold till Oprah's got a slot?"

"Dean." Sam shot him a look…that was categorically ignored.

"I've already _told_ you why I'm here." Nate spread her hands in frustration, and Bobby marvelled at the similarity the pose bore to Sam's own wilful stance, "I'm out to kill Meg and set things right with the world before she screws it over even more than you two did!"

"Now hold on just a minute!" Bobby took objection to that last remark, and had every mind to let her know it, but Sam jumped the queue, scrubbing one hand through his hair and raising the other in a signal of truce.

"Okay, just…what did Oplexicon mean when he said there was another facet of your agreement?"

"Beats me." Nate's tone made it emphatically clear that it hadn't escaped her in the slightest – she merely considered that information none of anybody's business but her own.

"I don't think you realize just how deep you've managed to bury yourself in trouble, kid!" Bobby stated matter-of-factly as he stepped forward to meet Nate's eyes with his own, "Now you may not be a threat but you sure as hell ain't bein' honest and that's never gotten anybody in yer family anyplace good!"

The truth of the harsh remark procured a swallow from both Sam and Dean and a fierce scowl from Nate.

"Don't for a second think I'm part of their fucked-up _family_." She muttered at Bobby, "Everything I have, everything I am? It was DIY – and nothing's changed."

"That's not true." Sam finally stepped forward to voice the assertion, and she turned on him with angry tears glistening in her cold gray eyes.

"What, you think just because we swim in the same gene pool you've suddenly got a corner on my life?"

"I'd say so, yeah!" He barked, and the staunchness of his tone made both Dean and Bobby raise their eyebrows in surprise.

"Well guess again." Nate appeared stunned momentarily before her fists balled up by her sides, "None of us have time for this." The words exited her mouth in a strained trickle, "Crowley's decided to take Oplexicon out, which means seriously bad news for my time window."

"He said he'd _buy_ you more time." Dean reasoned, and she cast him a sidelong glare.

"Forgot you were eavesdropping."

"Oh I hear all kinds of things, sweetheart." He winked in her direction, "You know, like ne'er-do-wellers springin' open _cages_ and other disturbing rumours along those lines."

"That was an empty accusation thrown out in an attempt to get me to spill." Nate informed him dryly, "Crowley was talking out of his ass – his chicken-shit ass, if I might add. He doesn't want Plexie rocking the boat and causing a crackdown on his extra-curricular activities."

"We ain't here to talk about _Crowley_." Bobby reminded her tersely, "But nice freakin' try."

"You're making a mistake; I'm _not_ the bad guy here!" Nate stabbed a thumb at her chest as she raised her eyebrows at Bobby, "You think you're the only people in the world who care it's going to hell?"

"If that was really all that mattered to you, you'd be chompin' at the bit to let us help you!" Dean snapped, his face darkening as he moved to stand closer to the girl, "In case you hadn't noticed, we're not exactly the trusting kind…"

"Well _good_. Then you should understand _exactly_ where I'm coming from!"

"Enough!" Sam's voice was loud and deep and fearsome, bouncing off the iron walls of the room and reverberating in four sets of eardrums. Silence reigned for a moment and Dean and Bobby watched Sam with guarded concern as the younger man stalked into the center of the panic room with stony determination on his face.

"How much time do you have?" He directed the question at Nate, who was standing stock-still and had folded her arms across her chest.

She met his eyes with her own, two resentful, grudging orbs of icy grey.

"Two weeks…less, maybe."

"Or more, depending on if Crowley comes through with his promise." Dean piped up cautiously, and Sam nodded.

"Alright. We need to make that happen – Bobby, can you get in touch with Crowley and offer him whatever help he needs?"

"Sure, lemme just pull his number off my speed dial." The old hunter grouched, ignoring Sam's steely glare of response, "In case it don't ring a bell, the last time I talked with that sonuvabitch, he done took off with my _soul_. I'm not exactly eager to tango with him a second time around!"

"Fine. I'll deal with Crowley, and you can take Meg." Sam began to move on with his hastily-constructed plan, when Bobby emitted a heavy sigh of compliance.

"On second thought, bring on the crossroads demon. I'll take evil and well-bred over evil and skank-ridden any day."

"What exactly are you gonna do with _Meg_?" Nate demanded as she glared up at Sam, "I mean in case you hadn't noticed, the bitch is flying off your radar. And even if you _could_ find her…"

"Why don't you just leave it to the grown-ups, sweetheart, okay?" Dean dismissed the girl's nagging as he noticed Sam looked ready to unleash a scathing lecture.

"Looking but not _seeing_ any." Nate barked at him, and he rolled his eyes.

"Yeah well unlike _some_ people present," Dean raised his eyebrows in her direction as he stalked past, "this is our kind of gig. We've been doin' it our entire lives, okay, so how about laying off with the textbook knowledge?"

"How about I lay off with the _flashforwards_ instead and let the grown-ups fend for themselves?" She nodded at him snarkily,

"You know the Aztecs predicted the world would end in 2012?" Dean leant forward with a dramatic fall in his tone, "It's still here!"

"It was the _Mayans_, Dean." Sam wasn't so thrown off skelter he was above correcting his brother's fact base, apparently.

"Yeah well whatever. Miley Cyrus here gets my drift." Dean waved a finger in Nate's general direction before raising his eyebrows at Bobby, "Got any beer in this joint?"

The older hunter gave him a wry expression, "This is a panic room, kid."

Dean frowned sceptically, "So that's a yes?"

"That's a hell yes!" Bobby pulled up the bedcover of one of the bunks to reveal a cooler box, "You gotta top it up if you wanna drink one, though. Gotta keep supplies stocked full."

"Man after my own heart." Nate gave him a dry wink, and Bobby rolled his eyes in response.

"So what's the plan? You all just gonna keep me locked in here till you make another giant mess?" The girl tucked her hands in her jean pockets and scuffed the heel of her ankle boot against the panic room floor disdainfully.

"It's a thought." Sam replied acidly.

"Nobody's locking anybody up." Dean took control of the conversation before Nate Winters turned it into world war three. "Sam already laid it out. Bobby, you're gonna get ahold of Crowley and get him to fence our fake. Sam 'n I'll take Meg…"

"Dean." The younger Winchester began to protest, but his older brother held up a silencing finger in his direction.

"Not up for discussion."

"Great. You two go dive-tackle Hell's newest top dog. Let me know how that goes for you." Nate moved to the cooler, "Can I grab a beer?"

"No." All three men stated flatly, and she scowled as she strode toward the door.

"See you at the Rodeo. HEY!" The sound was vocal and full of irritation as she was halted in her tracks by Dean snagging her upper arm.

"Not so fast there, sweetheart. You ain't out of the red zone just yet."

"You're gonna be there with me in a minute if you don't let go of my arm…."

"Okay enough with the Xena Warrior Princess crap. You don't wanna be on lockdown, you're gonna have to stick with me 'n Sam…"

"The _hell_ I will!

"I wasn't finished!" Dean was using his Ben tone now – the one that said shut up and listen, "Now believe me, I hate the idea as much as you do, but you're gonna stick with me and Sam _and_ you're gonna shut up while you're doing it. I've had it up to here with your doomsday crap."

"Fine." She stated acidly, "I'll shut up – and watch you go to hell a second time around. Should be fun…"

"Nate!" Sam's voice was a gunshot, loud and sharp, and she jumped slightly before turning to cast him a wide-eyed, grit-jawed expression.

It was too late, however. The cat had escaped the proverbial bag, and Dean's eyes narrowed.

"What's she talking about?"

Sam's eyes were shooting daggers at his estranged daughter, and Nate had the good sense to cross her arms and turn away from the target zone.

"Sam?" Dean pressed, directing his question at his younger brother, and Sam grit his jaw while shaking his head.

"It's just…it's nothing."

"Oh so me goin' to hell, that's _nothing_?"

Bobby was rubbing his hands through his beard in a blatant 'not his again' manner. Sam, through his cold, indifferent exterior, was scrambling for words.

"Look we don't know anything for…"

"It's _nothing_." Miraculously, Nate stepped up to the plate, unfolding her arms and sighing at Dean, "Really. I…told Sam you were gonna die cuz I wanted to throw him off my trail." She lifted her hands halfway before dropping them to smack against her thighs, "Sorry."

Dean's eyebrows arched, "_Sorry_?"

Sam's eyes closed and he sighed wearily. Nate glanced to the side briefly and she shrugged.

"You want it in writing?"

No sooner had she spoken the words when the flutter of wings echoed off the cold walls of the panic room.

Castiel had joined the conversation, and the urgent, wide-eyed expression he was wearing suggested bad news was on its way.

"Oh what?" Dean was on his wavelength, "Don't tell me, the polar ice caps have melted."

Castiel ignored the quip, "I'm here at your wife's behest."

Bobby and Sam both furrowed their brows in confusion and Dean was fast to follow suit.

"Lisa sent you? What for?"

"You're needed at home at once." Castiel started forward, fingers raised, and the older Winchester backed away.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You ain't beaming me nowhere till I hear what's goin' on."

"Is everything okay?" Sam demanded, and Castiel's lip twitched downward ever so slightly.

"It's Ben."


	10. Chapter 10

_Tyler has decided to stop bitching about all the hits and alerts this story is getting in comparison to the reviews because that is what lame people who are desperate for approval do :D! So there! I guess Supernatural readers are just a different crowd from the Dark Angel pack on this site. Thanks to those who do still leave their ten cents though. Enjoy and sorry its shorter then usual._

_- Tyler_

* * *

"Sheriff Fisher brought him home about an hour ago." Lisa was handing out beers as she spoke, the casual gesture doing little to belie the quiver in her voice that suggested she was anything but alright, "Said he'd broken into the Simmons' house while they were out. Mrs Kolt from across the street happened to see Ben and called the cops."

"Are the Simmons pressing charges?" Sam accepted the beer she extended to him with a sympathetic expression.

"The Simmons are the least of his freaking worries." Dean growled, and Lisa's glossy dark hair flipped up as she turned to look at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means any demon within a hundred mile stretch of Cicero is gonna be on his ass like moths to a flame," The older Winchester declared matter-of-factly as he leant against the edge of a desk and popped the lid off his beer, "Considering the fact that Ben just lit'em up a giant signal fire by pulling out the rock salt."

"You're saying Ben's in danger?" Lisa's tone heightened slightly with tangible alarm, and Dean flashed her a wary, deadly serious expression in response. She turned to Sam for further light to be shed. He was wearing a slightly more empathetic version of his older brother's expression.

"Okay, so…what do we do?" Lisa proceeded to assimilate her information. She was good like that, Dean noticed. He had to give Lisa that – her level-headedness was damn handy in a tight spot.

"Well first off find out what the kid was up to exactly." Dean did his best to backpedal on the heavy as he took a swig of his beer and kept his eyes on the ground, "Could be all he did was pick a few locks and rummage through some stuff."

"Well, what _else_ are we thinking that he did?" Lisa spread her arms in confusion, "I mean he's a fourteen year old boy, Dean…"

"Who happens to do his fair share of research when he thinks no one's checking his browser history." Sam forced out the words as though they left a bitter aftertaste.

"Dude you can check people's browser history?" Dean glanced at his brother with what was almost a worried expression, and both Sam and Lisa cast him patient glances.

"I dunno, man, I mean isn't that like an invasion of privacy or something? It's gotta be unconstitutional." Dean was clearly coming to grips with his own misdeeds on Sam's guest user Firefox, and Sam smirked dryly.

"Relax, man. I block most of your _extra-curricular_ sites. God knows how many viruses I'd have otherwise."

"You…" Dean paused for a moment before continuing, "Your computer's _programmed_ to do that annoying red flashing skull and crossbones thing?" He was moving from embarrassed to affronted, and Sam flashed him an innocent shrug, "And they're callin' it Big Brother."

"Guys!" Lisa's insistent word had both brother glancing apologetically in her direction, "If you're serious about this whole…" She waved a hand in front of her delicate nose which was scrunched briefly in contempt as the next words left her lips, "…_demon_ thing, I suggest we talk to Ben and get him to tell us _exactly_ what he did."

"Good call, except I think we all know what you mean when you say 'we' and 'us'." Dean clapped his little brother against the man's broad shoulders, "Up and at'em, Sammy."

"Me?" Sam's eyebrows arched incredulously before he laughed nervously, "Dean, what makes you think Ben's gonna listen to…"

"Nope. You owe me one for reining in the Prodigal Daughter, now go get'im Tiger." The second clap on Sam's back was more of a shove as Dean steered him towards the staircase.

"What makes you think he's gonna listen to me, and even if he does, what exactly am I supposed to do? Slap his wrist and tell him hunting is for _grown ups_?" Sam forced them both to halt at the foot of the stairs and lowered his voice in frustration.

"Just pull out the caring, sharing crap, some puppy dog eyes, I don't know!" Dean held up a hand to cut his brother off mid-protest, "Look, man, we're an inch off from war with Meg and the last thing I need is Ben sneaking around in the crossfire begging to get shot!"

Sam's hands fell to his hips and his tongue flicked across his lips before he looked up at Dean, "Then maybe Ben needs to hear it from _you_."

"Nice pass." Dean glared dangerously, handing Sam his empty beer and tromping up the stairs with a very visible angry cloud thundering over his countenance.

The door to Ben's room was cracked open, Dean noted, and the light was off, allowing shadows of silver afternoon cloud cover to dance on the rug outside the threshold. Dean squared his shoulders, closed his eyes, took a long, deep breath, then sniffed as he rapped his knuckles against the door.

"Ben, it's me."

"Come in, Dean." Cooed a voice…a voice that bore no resemblance to Ben whatsoever. The hunter's green eyes flashed and he shoved open the door, barging into the bedroom with his gun already drawn.

There sat Meg, her booted ankles crossed over each other, a wide grin spread on her malicious features.

"You know I love what you've done with the place. The uh stars on the roof? _Very_ Disney World."

"Where's Ben?" Dean growled out the words with the promise of a slow and painful death hanging on each one, and Meg half-laughed, half-scoffed.

"You think I wanna tell you?"

"I think you wanna _live_." Dean cocked his handgun, and Meg tutted at him petulantly.

"Dean, Dean, Dean. Haven't we crossed this bridge? All that _toy_ will do is damage my vessel."

"How'd you get in?" The older Winchester moved a step closer as Meg uncrossed her legs but maintained her smile.

"_Ben_ let me in. Well, he might as well have. You know I gotta say, climbing out the window?" She raised an eyebrow at the open window behind her, "What exactly was he running from?"

"You got five seconds to tell me where my son is."

"Your _son_." Meg pouted in mock empathy, "That's cute, Dean. Really, I'm moved. A little disappointed as well, but…I guess now that the big bad Winchesters have gone all Family Ties on my ass, what's one more bastard child in the mix?"

The blast of the gun was abrupt, as was the gasp that left Meg's lips as she slammed back against the wall from the impact of the bullet through her chest. She panted several heaves of breath and glared up viciously at Dean.

"You shouldn't have done that…"

"_Where_ is he?" Dean was already in her face, demon-slaying blade shoved up under her chin, "I swear if you don't tell me, I will waste your sorry ass after I make you wish you had!"

"I don't _have_ him!" Meg yelled above the sound of her own flesh sizzling as the knife broke skin, "Not yet…but you can bet I'll find him first."

Sam appeared in the doorway, gun drawn. Nate was suddenly behind him, tottering on the tiptoes of her boots to try and get a glimpse over the giant blocking her view.

"Dean, what's going on?" Sam queried sharply, and Meg coiled to strike, gripping Dean's wrist and using it to toss him against the cupboard. Sam jumped forward, firing off a round of buck salt that caught Meg in the chest and slammed her into the wall behind Ben's bed. Sam's palm was up in a flash, and a cold wind blew fiercely through the open window as the light bulb flickered viciously. Meg was pinned, wrists to the wall, but her eyes glowed yellow, and she let out a laugh as the bulb burst and Sam staggered back, blood streaming from his nose and his chest heaving from exertion.

"Out of gas there, Sam?" Meg tore herself free of the wall, crouching on Ben's bedspread ready to pounce as Dean attempted to rise to his feet, dark red liquid leaking from a cut on his head. Nate had entered the room now, kicking the door shut behind her as she ran towards the demon, halting in her tracks only as Meg flung up a hand and slammed the girl face first into Ben's giant closet.

"Never liked her much but after the little stunt she pulled?" Meg's smug grin was gone now, replaced by a dangerous blank stare of malice as she watched Nate crumple into an unconscious heap on the ground, splintered wood falling in a cascade, "I'm thinking slow and painful death." She glanced up with raised eyebrows at the stricken brothers, "All opposed?"

The sudden sound of a gun cocking registered, and Meg's eyes shot towards the doorway to see Lisa's petite silhouette…and the rifle in her hands.

"Me."

Lisa fired, the kickback causing her to stumble. The shot that had been aimed for Meg's heart caught her in the shoulder, but the sheer force of the powerful rifle hurled the slim demon through the open window.

Dean hastened to the sill and stuck his head out of the window, but Meg was already gone, and only the well-kept geranium bushes greeted his sight. He slammed a hand against the window pane.

"Damn it!"

"Dean, what's going on? Where's Ben?" Lisa's eyes were wrought with fear and the rifle in her hands began to quiver slightly. Sam quickly reached out and relieved her of the weapon as he recovered his strength.

"Ben ran off. They don't have'im." Dean was feeling his pockets, "Where's my keys?"

"Oh god is that…blood?" Lisa covered her mouth with the sleeve of her sweater and Dean glanced at the hand he had swiped across his forehead.

"I'm fine, it's just a scratch."

"I meant _her_!" Lisa pointed frantically at Nate as she stirred and groaned, a small puddle of blood leaking out onto the carpet as she did so.

Sam was already at her side, crouching down on giant legs and checking her for injuries, "Hey, hey, hey – just take it easy, alright?"

"M'fine." Nate mumbled as she allowed him to ease her into a sitting position, "It's nothing a bottle of Jack and some ice won't take care of…" She winced and curled to the side as she palmed the back of her head, "Ugh that BITCH"!

"I'll call 911." Lisa made for the phone before anyone could snag her.

"Great, 'n I'll call Bobby. We're gonna need all the backup we can get." Dean pulled out his cell phone, and Sam glanced up sharply from his daughter.

"I think she cracked her skull." Cold, harsh panic was raging just below the hunter game face that Sam was still adopting. Blood was seeping through the fingers of the large hand he was using to cup Nate's head.

"Dean!"

"Okay! Look, just…" Dean was close to snapping, but he forced the broiling tension back under the surface as he ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes for a moment, "take her to the hospital. I'm gonna get Cas and his buddies on this one, see if I can track down Ben before Meg gets her paws on him."

"You sure?" The very fact that Sam didn't hesitate to voice his assent spoke volumes more then the doubtful eyebrow raise he threw Dean's way. His older brother knew him like the back of his calloused hand.

Dean flailed a dismissing hand at Sam before turning back to his cell phone, "Bobby, that you? Listen man, I need a favour…"

Sam's lips pressed together tightly but he returned his attention to the matter at hand, "Okay, come on." Nate was swaying in his grip now, and Sam scooped an arm under her legs and another around her shoulders, hoisting her up and standing in the process.

Nate's head lolled back, and her eyes were bleary and turning as pale as her skin as blood dripped from her hair and ran down the sleeve of Sam's khaki jacket.

"Sam…" She muttered between clenched teeth as he ran them both down the staircase with determined urgency.

"_Sam_." Nate persisted more forcefully, and he opened the front door with a twist of his fingers as he breezed through it sideways, Nate's limp legs banging against the frame as he did so.

"Just…don't talk." He ordered tersely, and the blip of his car unlocking was shortly followed by the back door opening and Nate being placed along the back seat of the car.

"Oh for fuck's sake, would you _look_ where I'm pointing?" Nate's final yell was short-fused and quivering with the unshed tears her pain was evidently stirring up. Sam turned to look over his shoulder in the direction of Nate's shaking finger and froze at the sight of three, tuxedo clad men with blank faces standing a few meters off from the car.

Sam swallowed matter-of-factly and straightened to face the angels as the oldest of the batch stepped forward with a genial smile that belied the ice in his vessel's grey eyes.

"Sam." The angel folded his hands in front of him and gave the younger Winchester a once-over, "Back from the dead?"

"I take it that's a rhetorical question." Sam slammed the door to the car shut behind him and met the angel's pace with his own, eyes cold and calculating and every bit as deadly.

"Actually we are all…" The angel glanced briefly at his colleagues, who shifted, before returning his gaze to Sam, "rather _curious_. Perhaps you could enlighten us."

Sam's glimmer of a downward smirk had the angel raising an eyebrow.

"No? Just a hint then."

"Maybe some other time." Sam turned to head towards his car, walking around to the driver's seat, and the angel scoffed at the brazen snub.

"You're wasting your time on that _filth_ in your backseat, Samuel."

Sam paused and met the angel's eyes with his own, eyes blazing cold flames.

The angel smiled knowingly, "Your daughter is already damned. You, on the other hand? There's still room for negotiation."

Sam returned the smile with one of his own as he opened his car door, "No there isn't."

The angel's eyebrows fell dangerously as the Ford pulled out of the drive and onto the quiet urban street. He held up a palm at his colleagues as they stepped forward.

"You're letting him go?" One of the younger angels queried blankly, and his superior's lips twisted as the taillights of Sam's car disappeared around the curb.

"Sam Winchester has immunity. You know this – and so does he." The latter words came out with a bitter aftertaste.

"But the girl?"

"She lives – for now." The angel glanced up at Ben's open window and caught sight of Castiel, who was watching his fellow celestial beings with an emotionless expression.

The angel turned on his heels and headed promptly in the opposite direction, "We may have need of her sooner rather than later."

* * *

Castiel watched the angels disappear from view before he turned to Dean, who was hanging up his cell phone.

"Bobby's on his way…what?" Dean cast his celestial compadre a wary stare, "Cas, what's happened?"

"You need to come with me." Castiel lifted two fingers, but Dean was highly adept at artful dodging after years in the angel's company, and Castiel huffed in frustration as his fingertips met with vacant air.

"What for?" Dean demanded belligerently, and Cas sighed through the rest of his explanation.

"I know where Ben is."

* * *

Hospitals were dangerous, sinister places for a hunter – for Winchesters in particular. The reams of officials roaming its halls were almost as messy as the spirits. One never knew what to expect; a pair of handcuffs or a bite in the throat.

Either way, Sam had grown up with an instilled loathing for hospitals. He could already feel the adrenalin, cautious and wary, pumping through his veins as he walked quickly alongside the slight, African-American nurse to his left.

Nate, on the other hand, seemed to have no aversion to hospitals whatsoever, and had even in her muzzy state proceeded to inform the nurses that she needed a double dose of morphine 'real snappy-like, sisters'.

Sam was just waiting for the inevitable 'does the patient have a drug problem' drilling.

"So Mr…Whitman?" The nurse raised her eyebrows at her clipboard as they walked briskly down the hall, "Your relation to the patient is…?"

"Uh uncle?" Sam knew it sounded more like a question than a response, but it had thrown him off-skelter.

"Nate suffered a hairline fracture to her skull. Thankfully it appears there was no internal damage. All the cranial scans came up normal and she's been stitched up without any problems."

"Great, so when can she leave?" Sam queried as they paused outside the ward where Nate was pulling on her ankle boots and for all intents and purposes ignoring the doctor who was speaking to her.

"Well there's a concern being raised in regard to the seriousness of her cirrhosis." The nurse cast cautious eyes up at Sam, and he frowned in confusion.

"I'm sorry – what?"

The nurse sighed and shuffled through her notes, "In running all our customary scans, we discovered that Nate is suffering quite a progressive case of liver cirrhosis."

"Cirrhosis?"

"A condition in which the liver slowly deteriorates and malfunctions due to chronic injury." The nurse explained patiently, and Sam's eyebrows arched.

"Injury?"

"In Nate's case, prolonged alcohol abuse." She nodded, "Scar tissue replaces healthy liver tissue, partially blocking the flow of blood through the liver. Scarring also impairs the liver's ability to control infections, remove bacteria and toxins from the blood…"

"I think I get the picture." Sam waved a hand to stifle the dreary dialogue.

"I'm sorry if this is difficult for you."

"No, it's fine. Um," Sam's eyes squeezed shut briefly before he addressed the nurse once more, "is there a treatment?"

"Mainly?" The orderly raised her eyebrows, "A change in diet. I'm recommending Nate for nutritional therapy, and it's vital that she avoids alcohol, caffeine or any other form of drugs."

"Okay." Sam did his best to cloak his bafflement as the nurse opened the door to the examination room. Nate jumped off the table and flashed an acid smile at the nurse before hurrying towards the door.

"You didn't have to stick around." She muttered at Sam as they headed through the hospital lobby, "Ben's missing. I mean, shouldn't you be out prowling the streets with a toothcomb or something?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay. Besides, if I left you alone, you would've split and made off with all my answers." Sam shrugged off his blood-stained jacket after a wide-eyed stare from a group of grade-schoolers by the elevators.

"Answers?" Nate tapped the rug in front of the sliding doors with her foot impatiently when it didn't open immediately. A thin trickle of blood streamed clandestinely from her ear, and when Sam frowned at it Nate returned the expression.

"Don't think you can cow me with your little Fear the Reaper routine."

"You're bleeding." He snapped tightly, and she narrowed her eyebrows and felt the warm liquid before bringing her fingertips in front of her.

"Huh."

"Huh?" Sam raised his eyebrows, and Nate wiped her fingers on her jacket as they exited the hospital.

"Just excess fluid from the fracture. Doc said it might happen. No te preculpas as they say in espanol."

"I…" Sam forced a calming breath as Nate breezed past cars backing out of their lots, barely managing to avoid being run over in the process, "…you are _definitely_ Geri's."

She paused and crinkled her nose, "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"I mean that whole nihilistic, devil-may-care…"

"He may, but I doubt it."

"Shut up for a second." Sam reached into his jeans pocket as his cell phone began to buzz. Nate rolled her eyes compliantly and slung herself into the passenger's seat of Sam's Ford after a menacing eyebrow-raise from the hunter as he held his phone to his ear.

"Dean."

Nate slammed the door shut and proceeded to rummage around in the backseat of Sam's car until she found what she was looking for. She settled back in her seat and unscrewed the lid of the half-empty bottle of red label with great satisfaction.

"On my way." Sam flipped his cell phone shut as he slid into the driver's seat and shut the door behind him, "Put that away before we get pulled over."

"Relax, Mr Narcophobe. We're still in the freaking car park." Nate took a generous swig of the bottle she had evidently taken out of her jacket en route to the hospital. "Speaking of which, it might go faster if I drive."

Sam coiled to snap out a vehement _no_, but for some reason a far more condescending response shoved its way through his lips.

"Do you have a permit?"

He knew she was looking at him as though he were high.

"Do cats land on all fours?" Nate patted the wheel, "Scoot over and let a pro show you how its done in 2020."

Sam laughed caustically as he moved her hand off the steering wheel and pulled out of the lot, "Maybe in 2020."


	11. Chapter 11

_**Sorry for this taking so long. Life has not been kind. Neither has the muse, so what's a girl to do? Roll with the punches I suppose...and in light of such a resoloution, I give you the next chapter in this wonderfully screwed-up fic. Enjoy and don't forget to leave me some feedback. It makes all the difference! **_

_**- Tyler**_

* * *

Dean Winchester blinked at the rundown corner store with peeling white paint, boarded up windows and a Closed for Renovations notice pasted to its door. He gave the place one last once-over and turned to Castiel.

"And you think Ben's here because?"

"Trust me, Dean, he's here." Castiel reassured him matter-of-factly, but the grim look on the angel's face suggested that Dean should be less than pleased with the prospect.

Dean paused to cast the other man a wary frown, "Did you _tag_ my kid?"

"Ben's safety is of importance to us. In the wrong hands, he could become a bargaining chip at any time – we had to take precautions." Castiel waved his hand and the locks on the door opened without much complaint.

Dean's eyebrows arched as he stepped through the doorway, impatient to locate Ben but clearly unhappy with the revelation as he pointed at Castiel with the implication that this was far from over.

"Ben?" Dean reached into his jacket and felt the weight of his trusty handgun, but didn't draw. Castiel didn't seem to be doing any panicking (not even his purposeful march of determination), so the elder Winchester figured that Ben was in no immediate danger.

Well, not from demons or monsters or angels, at any rate.

"Ben!" Dean fairly kicked open the first door he saw, anger rising in him like a cloud that rained heavily on the relief he felt at seeing the teenager alive and well. Ben was hunched over a rusty metal table, a ring of candles circling a bowl full of some bubbling, steaming substance that Dean didn't even want to know about. The boy glanced up in fright at the door banging against the wall.

Dean spread his hands with a sarcastic smile on his face, "Surprise."

"What're you doing here?" Ben was scrambling to put out the candles as Dean stalked casually across the paper-strewn floor, "I thought you were in Dakota."

"I was in Dakota. In fact I was in the middle of working out my newest family crisis when Cas showed up sayin' you split." Dean snatched the crumpled piece of lined paper that Ben was attempting to shove behind his back.

"No don't…" Ben began to plead but stopped instantly at a single glance from Dean as the latter unfolded the paper.

"Let's see what was so damn important you had to pull a runner for it, huh?" Dean narrowed his eyes in concentration at the Latin on the paper and a deadly silence came over the hunter for a moment. Ben swallowed anxiously and glanced up at Castiel, who was standing in the doorway with an unreadable expression on his face.

"What is he doing here?" Ben glanced in confusion from the angel to Dean before his eyes widened in irritation, "Did you let him _tag_ me?"

"Your safety is of importance to us." Castiel began, "In the wrong hands…"

"What the hell is an Abezethibou?" Dean interrupted the angel's monologue as he directed the question at Ben with eyebrow knit dangerously.

"I think I know who's behind the water killings." Ben handed Dean a worn yellow folder marked Homework, "There's been three more like Tracy Simmons in the past week, all unexplained drownings inside the victim's own homes."

"Ben, which part of 'you will not hunt' was so hard for you to understand?" Dean barked, but Ben ignored the rebuke and carried on in the spur of the moment as he shuffled through the papers in Dean's hands.

"Look – four killings, all different ages, all different locations. No connection whatsoever except one."

"They're all of Jewish descent." Castiel realized aloud, and Dean frowned at the angel to his right.

"So what, some Azbethibou…"

"Abezethibou." Ben corrected.

"Whatever, some Nazi spirit is wasting Jews by mandatory dunkin' apple?" The oldest Winchester let out a baffled whistle, "Well now I've heard it all."

"Abezethibou is a fallen angel, and a very powerful one at that." Castiel unfolded his arms and pushed off from the wall, reaching over Dean's shoulder to take the folder from him, "In ancient times he persuaded the pharaoh of Egypt to harden his heart against the children of Israel, and was drowned along with the Egyptian army when the Red Sea descended. He was trapped in a pillar of water but has always vowed to return once his strength had increased." He glanced over at Ben, "You're sure this is his doing?"

Ben turned red as a beet under the gaze of the angel and shuffled his converses nervously for a moment, "Well I mean…it was the only connection I could find, and uh…the revenge factor was kinda motive and….you know I just figured…."

"You just figured you'd summon him and find out for yourself?" Dean held up the paper he had confiscated from Ben, "Or was this ritual meant for _Moses_?"

"Well I had to find out somehow!" Ben protested, "And in my defence, I…" He stuttered on his words at the vicious eyebrow-raise Dean sent his way coupled with the blank stare from Castiel, "I…" Ben tried it once more and then threw up his hands in exasperation, "I plead the fifth!"

"There's no possible way it could Abezethibou. With the power level it would take in order for him to escape his confines, he could destroy the entire Jewish population of this state in an hour." Castiel stated flatly as he grabbed up a paint-stained duffel bag from the littered floor, emptying it of a few loose tools and sweeping the contents of Ben's table into it.

"Well unless he used up a big chunk of that power to bust out. I mean you guys sort of operate on like, celestial battery fluid, no?" Ben gulped at the cold look Castiel threw his way at the generalization which put him and fallen angels into the same category. Ben cleared his throat, "Just sayin'."

"Okay you know what? We're gonna talk about this on the way back home. Hey!" Dean cut Castiel off in his tracks as the angel moved a step in his direction, "We're _driving_!"

* * *

"Abezethibou?" Sam raised his eyebrows at the peculiar name crackling down the cell phone line, "Sounds kinda like the mutant offspring of Night Crawler and Mystique."

"Oh great. Now I can't like Marvel either." Nate Winters grumbled from her slouched position in the passenger seat of Sam's Ford. Sam flashed her an unsympathetic glance as he continued his conversation with Dean.

"So this is a fallen angel?"

"Yeah, with a buzz cut and a Swastika. When Cas 'n I busted in, Ben was inches off from summoning the guy." Dean sounded almost more frightened than he did angry….almost. "I swear if he had actually…"

"Ben was _summoning_ him?" Sam's eyebrows fell as did the lids of his eyes, "As in, a bonafide ritual?"

"Shoulda seen it, man. There were candles and herbs and dead shit in a bowl, whole ten freaking yards!" Dean had gone back to full-blown angry now, "I don't know where he's getting his information from, but I doubt it's Hell Hounds Lair dot com!"

"Think you could get me his computer?" Sam queried tentatively, and then winced as Nate's fist slammed into his bicep. He turned to her in disbelief and she flashed him wide, angry eyes and a clenched jaw in response. He shook his head in confusion.

"Was kinda hopin' you'd say that. You almost at the house?" Dean was pulling aside the net curtains; Sam could tell by the rustle in the background.

"Be there in five minutes."

"You bringin' Joan Jett?"

Sam let out a little snort this time. He hadn't meant to, but it had escaped before he could put a lid on it.

"Easy, Big Daddy, m'just asking." Dean at least, for all the sound Sam had to go by, was actually cracking a small grin now. "She okay?"

"See you in five." Sam hung up his phone just in time to dodge another jab from Nate's fist, "Would you cut that out?"

"You know, just when I think you can't sink any lower, you never fail to prove me wrong!" She snapped, evidently very riled up all of a sudden, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"What're you talking about"?

"Hacking into Ben's computer?"

"It's not hacking when there isn't a password."

"It's immoral."

"Less so than summoning an archdemon with no back-up, I hope." Sam snapped.

"It's…" Nate was seething now, her self-righteousness bent on a full collision course with Sam's, "…it's…unconstitutional!"

Sam opened his mouth to express that he really didn't give a damn, but instead settled on yet another condescending response as he drew himself up, "Five years from now, none of those things are going to matter…"

"Shut up and drive." Winters hunched deeper into her seat and crossed her arms sullenly at the bitter taste of her own medicine. Sam forgave himself a miniscule half-grin of smugness as he turned down the lane leading to Dean's house. The sun had already set (time was leaking alright…it had only felt as though five hours maximum could have gone by but the day was already drawing to a close) and a few brave stars were showing their faces amongst the far gaudier satellite and airplane glimmer. Streets lights bathed the roads and houses in their desaturated orange hues.

A few of them flickered as the Ford drove under their bellies.

Sam sighed heavily but for once it wasn't at the reminder of his paranormalcy. Instead he drummed a finger on the wheel, clenched and unclenched his jaw before squinting in thought and directing a question at Nate.

"So what's with the cirrhosis?"

The girl glanced sidelong with heavy-lidded eyes of irritation, "What?"

"I mean, were you planning on treating it before it killed you or is that just another thing that isn't gonna _matter_ five years from now?"

Nate directed her glare at the snowflakes splatting against her window, "What the hell is cirrhosis?"

"Don't give me that crap." Sam snapped out, and had he not been caught up in riding a flare of cold, quivering anger, he would have realized that his tone was the same one he would use on Dean when his brother was hiding something (or was in denial…it was always one of the two).

Nate let out a frustrated huff and straightened in her seat, "It's none of your…"

"Don't say it." The younger Winchester warned heatedly.

"No really, Sam, tell me how it's _any_ of your concern whether or not I have _liver deterioration_, huh?" She had twisted to face him now, one elbow draped over the back of her chair and her face pinched into a livid, caustic expression, "I mean, you're absent for four fourths of my life and suddenly you think you can play Dad. Well do me a favour – save the caring, sharing act for when you've got an audience, okay?"

"You know what?" Sam paused to let out a scoff through the sardonic upward curving of his lips, "Never mind. Forget I asked."

"Workin' on it." Nate had pulled out her flask and was already taking another swig. Sam did his best to keep both hands in the 12 and 2 position on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road, but his nostrils flared and he couldn't hold back a hard, angry swallow.

A street lamp over their heads exploded. Sparks flew, raining down on the car's roof. Charred metal clattered onto the sidewalk and into the street, narrowly missing the windshield.

Nate was silent for a moment before casting Sam an apprehensive glance.

"All you had to say was 'please'." She tucked the flask back inside her jacket and regained her composure quickly enough.

They drove in silence for the short distance between the avenue and Dean's driveway. Sam pulled up and killed the engine, flicked on the handbrake and unbuckled his seatbelt. Nate let herself out and both of their doors clicked shut in unison. She leant against the hood of the car and crossed her legs at the ankles.

"Think I'm gonna sit this one out."

Sam would have laughed at the apparent pettiness, but by now Nate had exhausted his patience quota, "So what, I shut you down one drink and your offer of help rescinds itself?"

"Whatever 'rescinds' means." She frowned at a nail on her index finger before reaching into her ankle boot and swearing, "Stupid thieving Crowley. You got a knife I can borrow?"

"Look this is serious. Dean's life is in danger, now Ben's as well. People are dying…"

"Azmakistan or whatever his name is has nothing to do with Meg's evil scheme or your brother's death." Nate raised her eyebrows before Sam had finished his statement, "This isn't my gig. I pass to His Royal Winged Highness on this round."

Sam shook his head, "Unbelievable." He turned and trudged towards the house, "At _least_ stay in the car!"

"Not with _your_ I-pod selection!"

Sam seethed at the remark and ignored it, shaking it off as he hiked the steps of Dean's porch and pounded on the front door.

It clicked open after a moment and Dean's irritatingly smug grin was there to greet him.

"Family squabbles?"

Sam cast him a wry look, "You're not one to talk."

"Fair enough." Dean moved aside to let his brother in and then peered out the open door at the figure sitting cross-legged on the hood of Sam's car, "You sure you wanna leave her outside? I mean with her knack for getting nabbed it's…"

"Can we just…get on with this, please?" Sam intoned with a hint of frustration that he did not want Dean's advice on this particular issue. His older brother frowned in disapproval but said nothing further on the subject as he shut the door behind Sam and followed his down the hall.

"So Cas went out scouting to see if Ben might be on the right track. He should be back soon enough." Dean opened the fridge and handed Sam a beer.

"Got any whiskey?" Sam popped off the top with one twist, and Dean's eyebrows rose.

"Yeah. Sure." He proceeded to serve them both a glass of red label, "Anything from Bobby?"

"Nothing on the Crowley front, although he says with the bait he's got out there, it's just a matter of time." Sam accepted the glass of whiskey and downed it in one shot, wincing briefly before heading for a refill only to pause at Dean's amused expression.

Sam huffed, "What?"

"Man that kid has _really_ lit the fuse on your tampon, huh?" Dean almost cackled at the notion, and Sam gave him cold eyes.

"Seriously disgusting metaphor, Dean. Even for you."

"Yeah well," Dean shrugged as his giant of a brother sidestepped him and hit the whiskey bottle for another round, "I'm just sayin', dude, I haven't seen you this strung out since you were studying for that LSAT thing. You sure you ain't on your rag…"

"Dean!" Sam turned from the counter to loom threateningly over his older brother – who laid a patronizing hand on his shoulder in response.

"S'okay, Sammy. You were just as bad when you were seventeen and look how great _you_ turned out, huh?" Dean patted Sam's bicep and then moved to refill his glass, "Course Dad did have to beat your sorry ass into oblivion more times then I can count. Not that you should do the same! I mean, I get it, Nate's a pain in the…"

"God, Dean, will you just _shut_ up?" Sam finally yelled, and Dean raised his hands in surrender on the issue.

"Okay. Whoa. Sorry." The older Winchester returned to his beer with a raise of his eyebrows, "So you got any dirt on Water Boy?"

"Uh yeah, in fact I've been doing a lot of research on the subject from behind the wheel of my car for all the ten minutes I've known about it..." Sam was already pouring himself another whiskey shot, and Dean rolled his eyes impatiently at the outburst.

"Yeah okay! I get it! _Man_ you've got your panties in a twist."

"Dean, if you don't get me Ben's laptop in the next fifteen seconds…"

"Hold your horses, Rambo." Dean snapped as he swallowed a swig of his beer, "It's right over there." He nodded at the dining room table, and Sam was there in a flash, scooping up the slim Toshiba laptop and sliding into a chair.

"Not wasting any time, huh." Dean muttered as he joined his brother in the dining room and watched Sam's fingers fly, "Wait, what's that mean, 'No Items'?"

"It means Ben's changed his browser settings to delete cookies and web pages visited when he exits Firefox." Sam explained sharply as he clicked and double-clicked various control windows open and shut.

Dean narrowed his eyes, "What the hell do cookies have to do with anything?"

"Never mind, Dean!"

"Alright, well I'm gonna hit the head. Let me know if somethin' comes up." Dean turned and strode down the hallway towards the guest bathroom, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head with a sigh at Sam's state of hyper-irritation. He had just made it to the staircase when a whiff of cold November air snuck underneath an open window facing the front lawn, lifting up the net curtain in a flutter.

Dean frowned and set down his beer on the staircase banister top, eyes still trained on the flapping white lace as he picked up a long iron poker from the umbrella stand beside the front door – one of the many planted weapons in the Winchester-Braeden household.

As the wind breezed under the one-inch crack in the otherwise secured window, Dean noticed his brother's Ford still parked outside. Yep – the kid was still there, perched against the hood, hair being tossed and rumpled by the chilly night air dances. Dean rolled his eyes and slammed the window shut.

* * *

Nate was unscrewing the lid of her flask when a voice behind her made her jump with a start.

"Cold out, isn't it?"

She glared at Dean Winchester and took a swig of her acidic brew, "You and Sam really need to take a leaf out of the 'sneaking up on people' memo you're always bashing Castiel with."

"Yeah maybe." Dean sniffed and hiked up the collar on his jacket, leaning against the nose of the Ford and poking at the frost-covered ground with his boots. Winters eyed the older Winchester as though she was caught between an insult and compliment…before shockingly enough settling on the latter.

"You're alright, Dean."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise and he glanced down at the normally malevolent youngster to his left, "Really?"

She shrugged and took another swig of her flask before holding it out to Dean, "Want some?"

"No thanks. If that's the same stuff you've been slipping my brother, I think I'll pass." Dean pulled the beer he had been keeping in his jacket pocket out from its warm haven and unscrewed the top.

"Your loss." Nate's cheeks were rosy with cold in contrast to her comparatively pale skin, though her dark hair had finally stopped tossing and settled in thick, lank tangles around her face, "So what you doing out here with the sociopaths? That pretty wife of yours toss you out?"

Dean was taken aback by the faint ring of fondness in Nate's voice when she mentioned Lisa. Apparently his 'pretty wife' had struck gold somewhere along the way with the self-professed sociopath he had for a niece. He would have to pass that one along.

"Actually, uh," Dean scratched his ear, "I was hoping I could put in a lil' plug for some back-up."

Nate actually smiled at that, "Never fear, Daddyo. You're lookin' at the Queen of Couple's Therapy. I once got this millionaire my mom was dating to go out with her a second time after she barfed on his shoes and called his dog a Pekanese bi…"

"I meant with Sam." Dean cut the girl off in her lewd tracks as he turned to her, "Now I know you two ain't exactly Kirk and Michael Douglas right now…"

"More like Scott and Dr Evil!" The girl implied sharply, and Dean rolled his eyes. He recognized the surly tone better than anybody might – it belonged to Sam Winchester. And it was _not_ getting the better of Dean.

"Whatever. My point is you 'n Sam are at each other's throats right now and I'm not havin' it, not right now. We've got too much at stake without you pushing Sam over the edge with this whole…whatever it is you've got going on."

"What, you mean Vader vs Leia?" Nate suggested churlishly.

"Alright enough." Dean slammed his empty beer down onto the marble edged of the cherub fountain and stabbed a finger towards the house as he leered over Nate, "You're gonna get your stubborn ass inside before you bring every demon in the county on the rest of us, and you're gonna start cutting my brother a little slack. Starting now."

"Look I said you were alright, but that was _really_ not an invitation to start bossing me around…"

"Look we are in up to our _necks_," Dean leaned in for emphasis, his anger evident enough by this time in point, "in bad news right now, and I need Sam sharp and in the game."

"So hire a therapist." Nate was on her tiptoes now, bringing her pint-sized nose up a little closer to the hunter, "You know everything was going fine until your brother decided to put his foot down and I stepped right on over it. Maybe you should be having this conversation with your precious little _Sammy_!"

"You know what…"

"Issues, issues, issues." Out of nowhere, Crowley appeared on the scene, his face wrought into languid amusement as he tucked his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat and raised his eyebrows at Nate and Dean, "Toe to toe, are we? And after all that fuss you and Sam make about family."

"It's about time. I want my knives back." Nate abandoned the assault she had been pitching on her uncle and turned on Crowley without missing a step.

"Knives? Oh…you mean those pig-stickers you've been carrying around. Yes well," The crossroads demon cleared his throat, "I'm afraid they've fallen into the wrong hands."

"Yeah – yours." The girl snarled, and Dean's eyes rolled full circle at the hostility Nate just seemed to shoot out at _everybody_.

"No – Meg's, I'm afraid. She's updated her stalker collection. Speaking of Madam Snark," Crowley's eyebrows arched, "what exactly is it you want me to be fencing her?" He noticed the expressions of surprise that passed between Dean and Nate and quirked his lips, "That is, unless you've come up with a somewhat brighter scheme?"

"What's your cut in all this, Crowley?" Dean's hand fell onto Nate's arm and silenced the girl in her efforts to seal the deal, "I mean there's gotta be something that you want."

"Nothing _you_ can give me, Putz." The demon informed him dryly, and Dean scoffed.

"Gimme a break, I mean you're king of the crossroads for crying out loud. The word 'favour' isn't even in your dictionary."

"Fair enough," Crowley held up a finger, "If you must know, the 'cut' for me in all of this is watching Meg go down in flames without me having to officially declare war. Puts one in a tricky position, the power struggle being what it is these days."

"What, you versus Meg?" Dean adopted an expression of incredulity, and Crowley shrugged nonchalantly in response, "Really? That's who's running for governor nowadays in the Pit?"

"Aren't you glad you got out when you did?" Crowley threw back icily before sighing, "So who's got the goods?"

Nate's gray eyes flicked up at Dean, who with a twist of his lips released her arm. She unzipped her jacket below her ribs and withdrew a folded sheet of paper which she handed to Crowley.

"Here's the address of a warehouse in Montana full of the product."

"The product?" Dean hadn't expected that the girl would arrange the entire operation on her own behind his and Sam's backs, but apparently he should have.

"Anti-depressant." Nate informed him as she tucked a wisp of stray hair behind her ear, "Trust me, it's well-concealed. My geek pals from high school work in cushy laboratories now."

"Well, if anything goes awry, I'll know who to blame." Crowley stashed the paper and nodded at the pair, "Oh and by the way? I got you more time. Six months from October." He winked at the complete shock that swept across Nate's face, "I'll be in touch."

The demon had barely disappeared when Dean turned on Nate.

"A little advice for any future dealings with Crowley; Sam and I don't appreciate being lied to."

Her eyebrows gathered at the base of her petite nose, "I _didn't_ lie."

"Whatever. You don't make any decisions or deals with _Crowley_ without consulting _us_, you got that?" Dean's tone was sharp and sent a crack through the frigid air.

Winters pulled at her bottom lip with her teeth before letting it loose with an acidic smile, "Fine. Same goes for you two. No deals without _consultation_."

"Fine." Dean agreed without skipping a beat, "Can we go inside now? Cuz I'm freezing my ass off."

Nate rolled her eyes and slid off the boot of the car, her boots crunching the sludge and nearly causing her to slip. "_Don't_ you dare." She fumed at Dean, who raised his hands in surrender from where they had involuntarily moved to catch Nate mid-fall.

* * *

Sam was practically unleashing waves of electromagnetic ill-will by the Dean entered the dining room, glancing up at his brother with a very malignant expression on his otherwise handsome features.

"There you are. What the hell kept you so lo…" He paused and swallowed as Nate stepped gingerly around the corner. She squirmed under the intensity of Sam's gaze but had the good grace to conceal it.

"Any luck with Ben's computer?" She forced out, hands fisting by her sides and banging against the dark denim covering her thighs.

"Just about finished with my _unconstitutional_ privacy invasion." Sam apparently couldn't help but allow snideness to the fore. Dean's mouth tightened and he ushered Nate into the room.

"So, anything?"

"Well it seems Ben's sources were a lot more legit than we had originally thought." Sam was all business once more as he returned his focus to the computer screen in front of him, "He managed to find an underground webring dedicated to what's known as freelance hunting."

"Freelance hunting?" Dean's eyebrows rose, and Nate glanced up at the terminology.

"Is the mother site called something incredibly lame like ?"

"As a matter of fact, yeah." Sam was surprised, and it showed in his tone as he raised his eyes from the screen to settle on his daughter, "Why, you know something about this?"

"Well I know the geek who runs it from his basement apartment, if that counts." The girl tucked a strand of poorly-cut bang behind her ear and took a seat on the edge of the dining room table, "His dad's a hunter but he doesn't let Kurt outside the salted walls, if you know what I mean."

"Kurt?" Dean made a face, "Lemme guess; acne, glasses and a stash o' Star Whores pin-ups behind his bed."

"Actually no, he's pretty rad." Nate tapped the table next to Sam, "Look up his website; I bet he could help you with this whole Azbethimeth thing."

Sam sighed heavily through his nostrils as he complied – much to Nate and Dean's surprise. "Fine, but I don't know what help this guy could possibly be."

"Hey – no one knew what help _Crowley_ could be, and look how _that_ turned out." Nate was trying – Dean could tell, and he inwardly admired her for it. Whatever aught she held against Sam, her respect for Dean apparently outweighed said subtracting factor.

"Uh huh," Sam was entering Kurt's web address as he spoke, "How exactly did it turn out, by the way? Any update from Bobby?"

Dean's eyes bore into Nate's visage, and she purposefully avoided them as she swung her ankle boots back and forth underneath the table.

"Crowley is fencing the fake as we speak." The young girl finally settled on a neutral response, and while Dean's frown deepened, Sam appeared too engrossed in his work to assess the truth of the matter.

"Guess Bobby found a worm worth hooking."

"No 'I' in 'Team', Sam." Nate winked at her respective uncle, and Dean shook his head with a silent mutter as he moved to the fridge for yet another beer.

Sam actually glanced up at that particular sound, his face curious and suspicious all at once, "Dean, what?"

"Huh? Nothin'." His brother announced in a surly tone as he popped the cap off his beer. Sam swivelled in his seat, his eyes squinting up ever so slightly and his muscular forearm resting on the edge of his knee.

"You did that…_thing_…where you mumble."

"Did he mumble?" Nate interjected noncommittally, and here the younger Winchester cast a narrow glance in her direction, then in Dean's, then in hers again.

"What's going on?"

"Hey look – the website buffered…."

"Nate closed a deal with Crowley behind our backs."

Dean's blurted assessment of the facts had his victim balking in protest.

"I…you…it wasn't intentional." Nate defended herself with an incredulous glare at Dean as she hopped off the table top, "Bobby was just taking too long!"

"Hold up. What deal?" Sam had already turned on her, eyes and tone simmering, and the girl rolled her grey eyes.

"Just about the supplement we were fencing Meg. I took the liberty of arranging a transaction."

"Involving?" Sam seemed unsurprised by the news – though clearly less-than-pleased.

"Just anti-depressants cloaked as Hell's Hamburger Helper. Look you got nothing to worry about – my guy is totally legit." Nate bartered, although her bale-faced glower at Dean reminded the hunter that she still genuinely didn't give a flying fuck what the Winchesters thought of her Modus Operandi.

"Right, so just in case of the unlikely event that you're wrong," Sam had turned full in his chair, and though he was still wearing that irritatingly calm expression of his, it didn't take a psychology major to deduce that he was anything _but_ calm, "would you mind telling us exactly where and when this trade is going down?"

The girl's eyelids grew heavier, "What, so you can barge in half-assed and blow all my work?"

"Or clean up your mess – whichever way you wanna look at it." It was Dean who started the fireworks – as per usual. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Dean…"

"Sam, enough, alright? If you're not gonna grow a set anytime this year then shut up and let me handle this."

"_Handle_ this?" Nate was almost laughing in her state of incredulity as she crossed her arms and adopted a smile of amazement, "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"I'm the guy whose hunt you just blew because you couldn't put a leash on your trigger finger."

"I blew your hunt? You blew your _head_. I'm the one steering this boat!"

"Not anymore."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Alright, enough." Sam not so much snapped the words as wearily unleashed them, turning around in his chair to cast neutral, apparently-unruffled eyes on his arguing relations. It still terrified the hell out of him that Nate Winters even came under the category of _relations_. Trumped it, actually. She and Dean were neck and freaking neck as far as technicality was concerned.

"Can we just…" He issued a long sigh, and Dean and Nate both simmered at the gesture, "try to get through this thing without biting each other's heads off?"

Nate said nothing, merely imbibed another swig of her vile alcoholic concoction. Sam looked as though his eyes could burn a hole right through the hated silver flask. Dean's eyebrows were raised, most likely at his little brother's audacity.

Castiel, unlikely enough, was the one who broke the vicious silence, his angelic visage appearing in the centre of the room and causing all three humans to jumps.

"Cas, what the hell…" Dean began his standard lecture about 'privacy invasion', but he swallowed it in favour of a narrow-eyed expression as the angel closed in on Nate.

"What were the terms of your deal with Oplexicon?"

The girl looked the angel up and down, "My soul for a ride on the time beam. What's got you so fired up?"

Castiel's deep blue eyes were wide and he was emitting an unsettling air as he gripped both of Nate's slim, muscular shoulders and she flinched at the contact.

"I need you to be honest with me." His eyes shut, and all of a sudden the girl was screaming through closed lips, her body arching in Castiel's grip, the tips of her boots pressing her ankles off the floor.

Sam was on his feet in a flash, and even Dean's full-on body slam did little to stall the well-built hunter in his tracks as he made a lunge to put a stop to the scene before them.

"What the hell is going on?" Dean yelled furiously as Nate hunched over, sweating and panting, before continuing to arch and scream.

"Stop it!" Sam's voice was loud and enraged and exuding the most emotion Dean had ever witnessed from his little brother since Sam had escaped the pit, "Cas, so help me God…."

"I'm done." Castiel released Nate and she reeled, doubling over before passing out in Sam's arms as he flew to break her fall. Dean skidded to a halt by his brother's side and cast an angry, bewildered glance at the hardened girl's pale, sweaty skin and sallow eyes before he directed said glare at his angelic sidekick so-called.

"Done what? What the fuck did you do to her?"

"I found out the truth." Castiel appeared uneasy with his own actions, though there was no hint of regret as he adjusted Jimmy's tie and trench coat over his vessel's body, "Something to which Winters clearly has an unsurmountable aversion."

"Her name's Nate, you _son_ of a…"

"I'm sorry, Sam." The angel interrupted the younger Winchester's infuriated statement, "But there was no other way. I had to be sure that my information was correct. To act upon it without verifying its authenticity would have been disastrous."

"Disastrous for who?" Sam demanded, and Dean was honestly unnerved at witnessing the Sam from their first year of hunting – angry and bitter and driven by revenge. Sam was holding Nate against his chest and locking Castiel in a blatantly furious expression that honestly worried Dean to his core.

He didn't know whether to rejoice or panic.

"For who, huh?" Sam was repeating, "For Nate? Because I'd say she kinda got the wrong end of this deal either way."

Dean decided he would go with panic. It seemed the more appropriate option right just then.

"She'll recover quickly. _You_ may not when you hear what I have to tell you." Castiel was, as usual, unmoved by being painted in a black shade on this particular canvas, and Dean braced himself for the worst.

Sam's face was hard and unimpressed, "What?" He sounded like he was questioning a tattle-taleing infant as opposed to Heaven's new top dog.

Castiel's lips tightened and for a moment both brothers caught a glimpse of regret in the angel's eyes.

"The terms of Nate's deal are buried too deep within her consciousness. To retrieve them fully would be to endanger her life."

"Well since you've already done that," Sam's snap dripped with acid, "why don't you enlighten us?"

Dean resisted an eye-roll and instead settled on a heavy-lidded expression, crossing his arms as Castiel opened his mouth to continue.

"I did however find something interesting." The angel glanced from Sam to Dean before he focused on the semi-conscious girl still being supported by the former.

"It seems Nate unlocked the most deadly secret of the dark book before it was taken from her." The angel reached out and placed a finger on each of the brothers' foreheads before they could react, moving at lightening speed and causing Sam and Dean to jolt and buckle as the heat of a vision seared their minds.

When Castiel pulled away and once they had regained control of their breathing, the Winchesters were wearing deeply troubled expressions.

Sam shook his head, his lips parted as he gazed downwards towards the haggard figure in his arms with an air of disbelief, "But...how?"

Dean's grimace deepened.

He made no further response.


	12. Chapter 12

**_I know it's been a while! Belated Merry Christmas and Happy 2011 and all that jazz. Tyler's been one busy little nerd but here's another chapter for you all. Enjoy and review!_**

**_- Tyler_**

* * *

The young human, a clean-shaven boy barely out of his teens, glanced casually up at demons standing over him. He didn't flex or strain against the bonds keeping him fastened to the rickety chair.

He seemed, for all intents and purposes, rather at ease with the situation.

And certainly not out for a strip of flayed human flesh.

Meg's face was cold, but the certainty of rage was flashing in her eyes as she turned to the demon on her left – a black-eyed bastard riding some lean-faced estate agent.

"It's having no effect."

The demon's upper lip curled derisively, "Give it time."

"Give it _time_? This is the Croatoan virus, goddamn it!" Meg hollered, her face now an inch from his and her nostrils flaring, "You don't give it 24 hours, you don't even give it 24 _minutes_! This is not the right mix!" She stormed past the minion, and he reluctantly followed at her heels, knowing better than to ignore the subliminal command.

"I knew I should never have trusted that slimy crossroads bitch!" Meg shoved aside a loose wire hanging from the roofing as she stomped, "Whatever he fenced us, it's a pile of crap. You," She paused in her tracks and pointed at the demon, "get me Winters. _Now_. I _know_ that little bitch is behind this and I want her rakish little hide strapped to a table _yesterday_!" Meg yelled the final part of her sentence as she continued to storm away, "It's payback time, Sam."

* * *

The room was silent. _Deadly _silent.

Dean leant against the wall, arms folded against his chest, his chin dipped and his eyes boring a fierce hole in the floor.

Castiel was standing, hands tucked into the pockets of his trench coat. The full brunt of his angelic, unreadable stare was directed at the thin, pale girl lying sprawled on the sterile bed in the centre of the Panic Room.

Bobby's Panic Room. Because Nate Winters was not going to be within a thousand feet of Lisa and Ben if anyone had anything to say about it.

Trouble was, no one had much to say about anything just yet.

Sam was sitting on a stool, his elbows resting on his knees and his large powerful hands clasped together in front of him. His fingers bounced and jostled against each other in tension. His eyes moved from Nate to the ground and back up again. All of a sudden he snapped, straightening in his chair and glaring at the floor.

"Damn it, Cas, if you don't stop looking at her like that…"

"Like what?" The angel queried in a genuinely puzzled tone, and at that Sam had to roll his eyes and stand up to face the man.

"Like…the way you look at me." Sam's voice fell an octave as he spoke the words, and Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Sam."

Castiel frowned, "I wasn't aware there was any specific way that I…"

"Never mind." Sam bit out sharply, and Dean shook his head.

"Man this is fucked up. I mean even for us this is seriously fucked up. What the hell was she thinking?" He directed his frustrated question at Bobby, who raised his eyebrows.

"Well don't look at _me_. _Sam's_ the one who made'er."

"This is a point of interest to me." Castiel, always one for being oblivious to human boundaries, knit his eyebrows at Dean, "If Sam had no desire to produce offspring with this particular woman, why did he copulate with her?"

Dean opened his mouth and closed it, struggling for an appropriate answer while under the spotlight before he threw up his hands in frustration, "The hell does _copulate_ mean?"

"Why did Sam have sexual relations with a woman to whom he bore no desire for marriage and children?" Castiel, of course, had to rub salt in the damn thing. So much for evasive manoeuvres.

"Because it's _complicated_!" Sam finally entered the conversation with a forceful explanation, "_That's_ why."

"What's _complicated_ is that this child has somehow managed to locate and open _five_ Devil's Gates since she has been here." The archangel adopted a less confused expression as the lean figure on the striped mattress stirred, "Clearly she is searching for a spirit – but whose?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa – _five_ Devil's Gates?" Dean held up a finger, "You said _a_ Devil's Gate."

"I said that Nate had unlocked the secret to opening a Devil's Gate. I didn't specify how many at the time because I didn't have that information. I now _have_ that information." Castiel drew himself up haughtily, and Dean smiled acidly in response.

"Well bully for you."

"_Five_ gates?" Bobby sounded as though he was straining to keep a lid on his anger for Sam's sake, "Well did she at least _close'em_ after she was done pokin' around?"

"I don't have that information." Castiel replied curtly, and Bobby rolled his eyes, pulling off his baseball cap and tossing it onto the table.

"Balls!"

"Well I know at least _one_ person who has that information." Dean tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans and nodded at Nate, "And she's waking up right about now."

Bobby scoffed in amazement at Dean's apparent naivety, ignoring the fact that Nate had not only opened her eyes but was attempting to scoot into a sitting position.

"Oh sure, cuz she's just gonna spill her gut to us…"

"She's not gonna have a choice." Dean stated flatly, his sentence aimed entirely at his estranged niece. Grey eyes shot daggers at Castiel, and Sam had barely opened his mouth to voice a warning before Nate Winters, weak and looking even paler under her mane of dark hair, launched herself at Castiel with all her might.

Sam caught her in her tracks before she got herself smitten with wrath or some other terrible fate, but even as the large hunter swooped the delicately-built girl off her feet by her waist, Nate still managed a kick to Castiel's head which luckily hit its mark.

"Whatever the fuck your issue is, you need serious therapy!" Nate was still in flow-blown rage mode after Sam dumped her in a struggling heap back on the mattress and positioned himself between Nate and Castiel – who was receiving the full brunt of the young girl's anger…and massaging his temple in the process.

Nate glared around Sam's broad torso at Cas as she scrambled to get back up, "You can't just go around frying people's insides when they don't tell you their fucking life story off bat…"

"That's enough." Surprisingly enough, the snippy shut-down came from the archangel in question, the tilt of his head and the narrowing his blue eyes enough to express his complete lack of tolerance for Nate Winters and her dramatics.

"Maybe you don't understand the situation, so allow me to elaborate." Castiel continued to move slowly forward, and amazingly enough Sam actually stepped aside. That rose a few eyebrows on Dean and Bobby's side. Fortunately it seemed the younger Winchester had a solid enough grip on his emotional upheaval to see sense on this particular issue. Sammy was even folding his arms and sporting a grim expression that was directed at Nate…

Who, Dean noted, still didn't give a flying fuck.

Castiel was continuing, not missing a beat in his line of purpose. "You returned to the past through making a pact with a very powerful and ancient archdemon. You told us that the terms of your agreement with Oplexicon was a simple exchange; your soul for his window of time. It was a lie."

"Says who?" Nate's tone was flaming, but it didn't match the virulence of Castiel's as he clipped out a response.

"You deny it?"

"Damn fucking straight."

"You told us that you were consorting with Meg only to ensure her downfall, yet my sources tell me you were last spied bartering for information on your mother with _Meg_. Is this true?"

"What I do for my _family_ is _none_ of your business…"

"Is this true?" Castiel repeated loudly, his voice bordering on a yell and crackling with righteous wrath.

"Answer him." Sam's flat command was like an electric jolt across that had Dean, Bobby and Nate all stiffening in unison at the sudden and uncharacteristic brusqueness from the younger Winchester.

It was as though some invisible hand had hit the rewind button and restored Sam Winchester to his younger, brasher, more determined self.

Either that or Dean was beginning to suspect that the fastforward button had been pushed too hard, too fast – and that this was the new Sam Winchester that stood before them.

He wasn't sure if he liked the notion. But Dean assured himself that at least for now the brunt of New Sam's domineering disposition seemed to be Nate Winters and not himself…

And honestly? Dean could live with that.

Nate, however, couldn't, and she demonstrated as much by leaping onto her feet once more and beginning to head for the door.

"I don't have to put up with this crap."

"Where do you think you're going?" Sam demanded as she proceeded to unbolt the giant panic room with muttered curses.

"Anywhere I don't have to look at your ugly mug."

"Yeah well there's a giant squad of _demons_ playing vigilante outside the salvage yard, so you might wanna rethink whatever temper tantrum you had thought out."

Castiel in particular was watching keenly as Nate debated for a barely a moment before she slung open the door with a pointed eyebrow-raise.

"Better them than him."

"She may have a point." Castiel fairly hissed, and Dean's brow arched in alarm at the veiled threat. The older hunter decided to salvage the situation before it grew a second head and started wreaking havoc.

"None of us have time for this, alright? We've got bigger problems on our plates right now." He flashed Sam a terse glance of warning as his brother glowered, shoulders squared, and fortunately Sammy took the hint, though his scowl remained.

Dean turned to Nate, "How many gates'd you open?"

The young girl cocked her head, dark thick hair falling down to her rib cage with the gesture, "If you guys really have nothing better to do then follow my every move, I'll link you my Twitter page."

"How many?" Dean closed the space between them quickly, his boots clomping on the heavy iron floor as he paused about a foot off from Nate, "Now would be a _really_ bad time to quibble over details."

"Five. And yes, in case you were wondering," Nate was eyeing Dean with a mixture of resentment and – it seemed – respect, "I closed them all behind me."

"Who were you looking for?"

"The Easter Bunny."

Dean's hand slamming the door of the Panic Room shut over Nate's shoulder sent a clear signal. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't toss you out on your ass for those demons to get a slice. You've been nothing but a pain in the ass since you showed up." His tone was calm, deadly and his green eyes shook her over, "You don't wanna make me ask again."

Nate's shoulders were squared and her chin was lifted, but her grey eyes carried an undertone of defeat to them, "Ruby." She whispered, and her tone was soft enough that only Dean should have heard it.

Should have. But Castiel of course, with his angelic senses on hyper-alert, shifted from tightly-restrained animosity to emotionless indifference.

And Sam snorted incredulously from his position a good few feet away. Paranormal abilities were a bitch, apparently.

"You're kidding, right?"

Nate and Dean both turned to set eyes on Sam, the former looking mildly terrified and the latter looking a little more confused then upset – the antonym of his younger brother, who was sporting a menacing, sardonic half-smirk that was neither friendly nor assuring as he stepped forward.

"Ruby?" Sam stopped in front of Nate, seeming to ignore Dean's uneasy presence beside him ready to restrain him should the younger Winchester lose the heavy leash he kept on his temper, "Why?"

Nate had actually shuffled a step back, though no one had noticed it, and the way her chin jutted even further upwards to meet Sam's eyes told the unspoken truth. For the first time in her life, Nate was genuinely afraid of her father.

And with good reason.

"I have questions." The girl's voice even sounded smaller, though her arms folded across her chest as she spoke. "Ruby has answers."

"Ruby's _dead_. Dean and I killed her years ago – a fact you'd know if you bothered asking the _living_ all these _questions_."

"Rumour has it there are unexplored pits where destroyed souls writhe in agony. I figured that would be a good place to start looking…" Nate's voice actually trailed off into nothing as the anger rolled off Sam in almost visible waves. Dean was casting uncertain glances at Bobby as though he were expecting his brother to pounce and wring his daughter's neck at any moment.

Sam was breathing deeply but his snarl of a barely-visible smile was still there, promising death in abundance.

"Would you guys excuse us for a minute?" The mock-request was aimed at Cas, Dean and Bobby. Nobody doubted any less for even a shadow of a moment. Bobby was the first to comply, laying a hand on Dean's shoulder as he reached around Nate and unlocked the giant door.

"C'mon."

Dean gave Sam a long stare and his brother returned it. A moment passed between the two, the silent communication that only they could understand unfolding quietly. Sam's breath evened out and he let loose a heavy, calming sigh. Satisfied, Dean turned to follow Bobby and Castiel out of the panic room.

No sooner had they left then Nate slammed the door shut with all her might before turning on Sam, determined to stay on the offensive before she lost all control of the situation.

"You can take that stick out of your ass. I didn't let anyone out of the pit if that's the issue here."

"Oh really?" Sam's eyebrows rose, and she rolled her eyes, looking away as he continued, "You sure about that? Cuz we've got a water demon running loose who's been trapped since the Red Sea blew in two. You got a better explanation?"

"You're seriously blaming me for Abezethibou's comeback?" Nate spread her hands in exasperation, "You know what, just…think what you want, Sam, okay? It doesn't matter."

"Well it _should_." Sam snapped, "You're digging into _my_ past, endangering _my_ family, and selling you damn _soul_ to do it." He was towering over her now, and Nate actually looked intimidated as she swallowed back some unchecked emotion and tried her best to appear tougher than she was clearly feeling.

"Why did you _really_ come back, Nate? Was it to punish me for not being there for you?" Sam spread his arms, "To show me what my recklessness put you through, made you become? I can't keep apologizing for something I wasn't even aware of!"

"I came back to save Dean!" Nate finally yelled with every bit of embittered turmoil the young girl had been keeping at bay for years – likely her entire life. "I figured since I'm dying anyway, I might as well use what's left of my worthless, blackened soul to help out a genuinely good guy!"

"You're not dying yet." Sam informed her ruthlessly, ignoring her scoff of reply, "And how exactly did Dean get stuck up on your pedestal anyway? You know about as much of his history as the nearest burger-flipping _kid_."

"Oh come on, Sam. At least Dean has some semblance of respectability to speak of." His daughter's voice was small once more, bitter and on the verge of breaking as she stalked over to the desk and turned her back to him, resting both palms atop its cold metallic surface, "Who else was I supposed to write about in all those pointless 'My Family' essays at school? My alcoholic mother or my antichrist father?"

That one stung. Sam didn't know if she had even meant it to – but it had nonetheless.

"You wrote about _Dean_ in your school essays?" He forced it to sound noncommittal, but knew for a fact it had come out with a twinge of quiet hurt.

Nate was reaching for her flask, fumbling around the inside of her jacket, "A PG13 version of Dean – he was my kick-ass uncle in a biker jacket who rode around the country rescuing victims of domestic violence and disappearing into the night. Maybe I was just projecting."

Sam had to smile at the floor despite himself, "He'll be flattered."

"He'll be _dead_," Nate turned on her heels, "if we don't get Meg out of the way fast. Did you come up with a plan yet?"

"Nice try with the subject switch. What the hell is so damn important that you picked the locks on _five_ Devil's Gates to track down _Ruby_?" Any reprieve that had been extended at the brief moment of honesty was retracted as Sam turned cold anger back on high. Nate gave up searching her jacket and threw him a scowl.

"Where's my flask?"

"Where's my answer?"

"Ugh!" Nate kicked out, knocking over the chair and sending it scattering across the room in her rage, "You took _everything_ from me, you know that?" She was yelling now, her face flushing with the final outlet of her bottled-up emotions, no hint of restraint in her tone or on her face, "You took the nice, kind girl that Geri was and you left a fucked-up drunken whore to raise me! You took my future when you triggered the fucking apocalypse, and now you're taking my soul because you can't even save the life of the _one_ decent blood relative I have! But I've got news for you, Sam, you are _not_ taking my secrets! They're the _only_ fucking thing that I have left!" Nate picked up the chair and hurled it at Sam.

He dodged the throw easily and all of a sudden he was in her face, grabbing Nate by her slim shoulders and shaking her once to snap her senses back into gear.

"Stop it!" Sam thundered, his own anger kindled enough to come spilling from his eyes and face and mouth, "Stop blaming me for Geri. You should've left her _years_ ago! It's your own damn fault you let her do that crap to you – I would have taken care of you and you knew it. You were just too damn proud to come and find me, so don't take your shit out on me, Nate. I'm not standing for that crap anymore, you understand me?"

She punched him, a frenzied blow that smacked across his squared jaw and sent his head snapping to the side. Nate used the momentary lapse in concentration to wrench herself free of Sam's grip and topple back on unsteady feet. Sam stepped forward as if to tackled her but appeared to manage a bare restraint on his now volatile temper, forcing an inhale as the girl pulled out a switchblade from her belt loop.

"Take it easy!" Sam raised his eyebrows and hands in a gesture of truce, but it was clear a dam had broken and neither of them were done talking just yet. Fortunately Nate lowered the knife, but her grey eyes were moist and still swirling with hate.

"She said you promised you'd come back to her." Nate seemed to find the sentiment hilarious, "So why the fuck didn't you, Sam? Was the sex not to your liking or do hymens just come cheap when you're 6 foot 3 and stacked?"

"I was sixteen years old." Sam reminded her coldly, "You think I knew Geri was pregnant? My dad dragged me across the continent by the scuff of my neck until I had to go to law school to escape it."

"Don't you _dare_ start 'poor me-ing' here…"

"You wanna pull the sob stories out of your handbag, princess, just remember you aren't the only head case walking the streets!"

"Did he hit you upside the head with rolling pins? Did he tell you every day how you ruined his promising law career?"

"No, he just raised me like life was one giant boot camp and blamed me for my mother's death instead!" Sam was done playing the angst-ridden punchbag in his unfortunate daughter's game of Place the Blame. _So_ done.

Nate dipped her head, nodded, and when she looked back up at Sam, there were tears welling up and fighting for the surface in her eyes, "Did he guilt-trip you into giving it up to Peak Mont's biggest drug lord to settle a debt and then use your new sexuality as currency from that day on?"

Sam stiffened and went silent, pale and frozen.

She smiled almost forlornly at him, "I didn't think so. Can I have my flask back now?"

Sam leant back against the bed's railing, his knuckles gripping it so tight they turned white. His eyes were narrow and his lips were pursed, his knit brows aimed at the floor as he silently digested the full impact of Nate's confession.

Sam was silent for a long time, and Nate Winters merely remained where she stood, arms folded and eyes watching him carefully.

The fan in the Panic Room spun absently, sending swirls of frosty December air pumping into the tin can safe house, and shadows danced across the two faces, causing them, in their separate veiled despair, to look identical for one split second.

Finally Sam loosened his hold on the railing and pushed off from the bed, heading for the door without another word. Nate frowned but made no move to follow him. The broad-shouldered hunter unbolted the heavy door and opened it, standing aside and raising an expressionless eyebrow at her that suggested she walk through it.

Nate's eyebrows hit the roof, "You're letting me go."

"Consider yourself on probation." Sam informed her curtly, "You step one toe out of line and I'll throw you back in here myself."

The girl tugged at the tangled in the bottom of her thick brown hair and knit her eyebrows, clearly thrown off skelter by this unexpected play from Sam. She flicked her switchblade shut and tucked it away as she took cautious steps towards the door, evidently half-expecting Sam to change his mind and shove her back inside the moment she cleared it.

He didn't.

Nate swallowed and appeared to regain some nerve as Sam pulled the door to the Panic Room closed behind them.

"So how far does one's toe have to _step_ _out_ before it crosses your invisible _line_?"

The hunter didn't spare her a glance as he made for the stairs, "Make one move without my go-ahead and you'll be right back where you started."

"Free?" Nate muttered between clenched teeth as she headed up the staircase after Sam. He ignored the sullen jibe. Nate rolled her eyes and cleared her throat as they reached the head of the stairs.

"So can I have my _flask_ back now?"

He finally stopped in his tracks and graced her with a long stare, and the dark coldness in Sam's eyes made Nate actually shrink inwardly.

"Let's get one thing straight." Sam's voice was as ruthless as his expression, though calm, "You're not overly fond of me. The feeling's mutual. _You_ broke the ice, so like it or not life as we both know it is over."

"Meaning what?" Nate wanted to rip Sam's pretty head right off his neck…she would likely have taken a stab at it if she wasn't more then a little cowed by the drastically different (and more deadly) version of Sam Winchester who now loomed domineeringly over her.

"No more secrets, no more lies, no more reckless acts of spite." Sam sounded like he was reciting a shopping list from the casual tone of his voice, "And no more drinking. Act your age."

Nate raised her eyebrows in incredulity and opened her mouth to snap out a rejoinder when a voice at the door to the hallway interrupted her verbal assault.

"Hey Sam! You comin' or what?" It was Dean, "Cas got some intel on that Asmabethibou case."

Sam turned his back on Nate and headed to find his brother without another word, leaving his belligerent daughter in dumbfounded silence.

Nate ground her teeth together, "Should've chose the Panic Room." She muttered as she stalked after Sam to join the other hunters.

Dean and Bobby looked surprised at seeing Nate on the loose, but they had the good sense to rein it in. Castiel on the other hand, did not. Or – and this was the most likely option - he just genuinely didn't give two shits what Nate Surliness-Personified Winters thought of his candour.

"Why is _she_ here?"

"Cas," Dean murmured, "A little discretion here."

"We've reached an understanding." Sam obliged the angel some semblance of an explanation but otherwise remained tight-lipped and curt.

Castiel frowned quizzically, "_We_ haven't."

"You'll notice I'm not trying to break your neck." Nate offered in a clipped tone, and Castiel turned to Sam.

"May I suggest the Pizza Man's method of correcting your offspring's acerbic behaviour? It has worked for centuries."

Sam gazed at him in mild repulsion then moved on to stand beside his brother, leaving Nate blinking in bewilderment and mouthing the words 'Pizza Man's method?' to herself in confusion.

"So, what've we got?" Sam nudged Dean, and his older brother cleared his throat, eager to leave off the uncomfortable mental picture of Sam spanking his seventeen year old daughter and move on to more tasteful matters – like serial-killing archdemons, for instance.

"Turns out Abezethibou leaves a raisin trail. Cattle deaths, lightening storms, all the usual omens, plus of course the age-old teller of his aversion to the Jewish race."

"Well that narrows it down to Israeli Town and Miami Beach." Nate quipped caustically from her position leaning against the dry-wall of Bobby's office, and Dean cast an annoyed expression her way before continuing.

"He's gonna hit again," Dean traced a finger along the worn map spread over Bobby's desk before tapping it down, "here. We just don't know which family."

Sam looked over Dean's shoulder and raised his eyebrows, "That's like a block away from _your_ place, Dean."

"I _had_ noticed, Sammy, thank you."

"It don't make a lick o' sense. Why these petty killings? Why isn't he thinking big?" Bobby sipped at his whiskey. Dean shrugged.

"Don't know, don't care, just gonna gank'im. How's that?"

"Good enough for me." Bobby saluted Dean and downed the rest of his glass, "A shot o' liquid courage, Sam?"

"I'm good." The younger Winchester replied shortly, "Cas?"

"The last time I consumed alcohol I endured a terrible aching of the head and nausea ad infinitum…" Castiel began hesitantly.

"He's good too. Can we get this over with?" Sam queried with a no-nonsense raise of his eyebrows, and Bobby leant back in his chair.

"Well I'm sorry, Mr Instant Gratification, are we not moving fast enough for you?" The older hunter's voice rang with wryness, "Cuz last I checked it was your little showdown in the Panic Room that was holdin' things up…"

"Why don't you mind your own business, Barnaby Jones?" Nate finally barked out from her otherwise silent corner of the room.

"Okay, time to hit the road, huh?" Dean slapped his hands together and nodded at his brother, "Sammy? We going or what?"

"Uhh…" Nate began in an almost gingerly tone of voice which trailed off as Sam glowered in her direction, "you guys do realize it's Christmas Eve, right?"

"So?" Sam prodded caustically.

"So shouldn't you be with Lisa and Ben doing…I dunno…Christmassy stuff like getting piss-drunk and passing out?" The girl's warped idea of the manner in which the holidays were to spent had Sam and Dean both cringing inwardly at the memory of their father in the years after their mother's death.

Nate raised her eyebrows at their silence, "Just sayin'. How about me and Cas…"

"Cas and _I_." Sam corrected his daughter's English with all the soberness of a scholar, and Dean made a face in his direction.

"Why don't me and _Cas_," Nate smiled between clenched teeth in Sam's direction, "go take out Azmakistan? You guys've got, what's the word? _Obligations_."

Dean's brow arched and he let out an incredulous huff, "You have _got_ to be kidding…"

"No, Dean," Sam turned to him, "Lisa will be expecting you at home." He twisted to grace Nate with a ever-so-slight smirk of triumph, "Nate, Cas and _I_ will track down Abezithibou."

Castiel actually shifted his footing and cast what could have been interpreted as a nervous glance in Nate's direction.

"Nonsense. Clarence and I can kick demonic ass just fine on our own," Nate seemed desperate to shake off Sam's new hold on her antics as she crossed the room to clasp an arm around Castiel's shoulders and look up at the angel with false endearing, "Ain't that right, Castie?"

Castiel looked up at Sam and Dean with the same wide-eyed, terrified expression he wore whenever Kelly Braeden showed up, "I…I'm not sure I'm comfortable being in the centre of what is clearly a familial debate…"

"None o' you are going!" Bobby's sudden declaration had them all glancing, stunned, in his direction as he stood up from the desk, "Oh don't gimme those injured face, what're you the Disney Princess collection? Whatever that nasty demon's got cooked it up it ain't showin' till tomorrow."

"And you know this how?" Dean huffed sceptically.

"I have my sources." Bobby pulled on his cap, "The point is it can wait. I know you boys ain't ones for celebratin' Christmas but as I recall it's important to Lisa which means it's important to you, or at least it _should_ be." The older hunter added the last part for emphasis as Sam looked ready to voice a pragmatic disagreement, "Now git."

"I'm confused." Castiel turned to Sam, "Why do humans insist on celebrating the birth of Christ at the year's end? He was not born anywhere in vicinity of December…"

"It's complicated." Sam explained tersely, and Cas frowned.

"I'm beginning to realize that that is your staple excuse for sidestepping issues about which you do not wish to talk."

"Great," Sam responded ruthlessly, "So don't talk about it."

"You really think Abezethibou's gonna call off the campaign so he can leave warm milk and cookies for Santa Claus?" Nate eyed Bobby incredulously, "Your ideology is _seriously_ off-track."

"You're one to talk." He retorted, "And before you go gettin' any high 'n mighty notions, I'll have you know yer daddy trusts my _ideology_ a heck of a lot more then he trusts yours. Translation?" Bobby raised his eyebrows triumphantly as Nate glared with all her might, "You ain't goin' nowhere tonight."


	13. Chapter 13

_**Sorry it's been so long since the last update. But the important thing is that Tyler has come through for y'all in the end with another chapter. Enjoy and please, hit the review button. Doesn't take long to comment but it can make an author's day, you know :). **_

_**- Tyler**_

* * *

The Christmas tree had been up for almost two weeks now. Dean kicked himself for allowing it to have escaped his attention. Normally Dean would drive out and buy the freshest of the bunch from the Walmart collection of evergreens, and Lisa and Ben would decorate. This year, with all the chaos that Nate Winters had brought on her heels, Dean had forgotten.

Lisa hadn't said a word either, which Dean wasn't sure meant that she had forgiven his overlooking of the year's most important festivity, or that she was simply fuming inside and didn't trust herself to tackle the issue at all.

Neither option made Dean feel remotely better about having forgotten Christmas. And trust Sam to have completely ignored it all. His little brother had become the Grinch personified and only ever came to Lisa's for Christmas because she insisted on it.

And now here Dean was, trapped in a giant Walmart queue the length of the Nile with his hands full of presents, having the toes of his boots crushed by overweight shoppers and trolley wheels. To add to the pure ugliness of the situation, Dean was also having to tolerate the constant feuding of Sammy and Nate, the latter of whom was still seething and apparently wanted to entire Walmart customer line to know about it.

"And to top it off, that old _idiot_ actually thinks that _demons_ are going to respect the _supposed_ birthday of their arch enemy!" Nate was clutching the handle of the trolley Dean had stuck her with in an effort to keep her hands too occupied to swing them at Sam, her knuckles whiter than a sheet, "What a _moron_!"

"That _old idiot_ happens to be a leading expert in demon behaviour, so give it a rest." Sam scanned the trolley and arched his eyebrows, "What the hell is this?" He held up a giant bottle of Don Ramon tequila that was almost as long as Nate's torso.

"It was on sale." She reached out to snatch it, but of course a simple lift of Sam's hand ensured it would permanently out of even Michael Jordan's reach. Nate rolled her eyes.

"It's a present for Lisa."

"Lisa doesn't drink." Sam handed it to the nearest assistant and cast the girl a scowl, "Remember what I said or you'll be spending Christmas in the boot of my car."

Nate pasted on an artificially-sweetened grin, "Well aren't you just a bundle of Holiday Cheer…"

"Alright that's it." Dean turned around, his expression and tone suggesting hyper-tension on a level uncharacteristic for the normally unaffected hunter, "If you two don't quit bickering like a pack of five year olds I'm locking you _both_ in the trunk. End of conversation." He turned back to the queue, "Hey, no cutting in!"

* * *

"I'm tellin' you man, this is the last freaking time I shop at Wal-Mart. Did you get a load of those lines?" Dean was still complaining as they headed across the busy parking lot to the Impala, arms full of shopping, "It was like people were queuing for war rations. Oh great," He felt his phone buzz and balanced the bags he was carrying in one arm while he fished through his jacket pocket for his cell, "It's Lisa."

Sam and Nate took the opportunity to fall slightly out of step with Dean and continue their quarrelling, apparently. At least, that was Nate's agenda for all intents and purposes as she grabbed hold of Sam's elbow.

"Hey."

"What now?" He turned around with a scowl of agitation only to be met with a slug to the nose. Thankfully (for her, because seriously injuring Sam Winchester was never a good idea) Nate's aim was as poor as her swing, and although she did manage to send Sam's head snapping to one side momentarily, his nose wasn't bleeding and seemed unlikely to do more than bruise.

Still, he cupped it briefly in one hand and glared at her.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Next time you try crushing me under the steel thumb of paternal authority, I'll hit you where it _really_ hurts. You got it, sunshine?" Nate raised her eyebrows and rose on her tiptoes in an attempt to level with Sam.

"You know what…"

"Get down!" Nate's sudden shriek and the accompanying nose-dive as she barrelled into Sam caught the hunter off guard, and they both hit the asphalt of the parking lot with all the grace of two elephants…precisely in time to avoid a round of bucksalt being shot directly over their heads.

Dean finally turned at all the cacophony, hands still full of paper bags as he surveyed the sight of Nate and Sam shuffling to their feet. He glared.

"You've got to be kidding. I turn my back for five seconds and you two are playing kick-fight on the pavement? Get the hell in the car!"

"Someone shot at us, moron!" Nate retorted, dusting off her jacket and glancing around for the mystery attacker, "Rocksalt? Really?"

"Maybe _one_ of us looked like a vengeful spirit." Sam aimed this in only one solid direction as he used his head-and-shoulders-taller advantage to crowd-sweep the busy parking lot, "Whoever it was has to be using cover. No way in hell would anyone be stupid enough to fire rocksalt from a shotgun in the middle of a Walmart parking lot."

"Unless they were an idiot." Nate countered as she scoured their surroundings, and Dean, rolling his eyes and muttering at how crap-tastic Christmas Eve was turning out to be, turned back to the car when he caught sight of a pair of odd yet strangely familiar faces coming towards them.

His jawline became even grimmer, and Dean shook his head with an ironic smirk at their rotten luck. "Hey Sam – think I found your mystery shooters."

"Where?" Sam followed the thumb his older brother was stabbing in the direction of the approaching men, and his face fell into something akin to despair, "You've _gotta_ be kidding me."

"That's right, ladies." Ed, adjusting his glasses and shoulder his shotgun as though it were a garden trough, squared his shoulders and cast knowing glances at Sam and Dean, "Be afraid. GhostFacers are back in town – and we own this turf, hoes. Time to find new hunting grounds."

Dean was clearly torn between laughing and breaking Ed's face, so settled on the former, causing both Ed and Harry to frown.

"Something amusing about this situation, Losechester? Cuz I can guarantee you your sorry ass is gonna be toast by midnight if you don't clear out." Ed raised his eyebrows menacingly, "We're workin' a case – no room for passengers on this ride, sweetcheeks."

"Okay, that's it." Sam was less then amused by the amatueristic antics which had nearly riddled him with rock salt and stood to loom over Ed and Harry, "You wanna play GhostBusters, be my guest…"

"Ghost_Facers_." Corrected Ed snidely, but Harry tugged at his sleeve.

"Whatever. You try to shoot us one more time, and I'll kill you." Sam graced them with a wry, dangerous smile, "You got that?"

Harry gulped and shuffled his feet while attempting to draw courage from Ed – who as usual attempted to step up to the plate.

"Listen, Kojack," The short, stocky weed of a man tilted up his chin in an effort to match Sam's domineering shadow, "We know, alright? And frankly," Ed ignored the Sam's half amused, half incredulous expression of questioning, "if you don't want the rest of the huntin' world catching wind of the Littlest Winchester over there, you'd better get the heck off our turf."

"_Our_ turf." Harry seemed to grow bolder at the notion and even raised his eyebrows at Sam as he echoed the statement.

"Hey bucko," Nate intercepted Sam's less-then-congenial response as she stepped between him and the notorious duo to stand nose-to-nose with Ed, "Who you callin' _little_?"

"Okay, uh, could you…yeah…proximity issues…" Ed was fumbling to side-step Nate out of his personal space, and she was dancing to the beat, keeping herself in the short-statured man's face.

"That rocksalt was for _me_, wasn't it?" The young woman wore a wry smile as she adjusted Ed's rumpled collar, much to his chagrin, "Well?"

"Okay, you guys?" Ed stood on his tip toes and waved a hand to get Sam and Dean's attention as the brothers watched, baffled, "A little help? She's…she's uh…okay no touching the jacket, sister…guys!"

Sam turned to Dean, most of the anger formerly present now absent in place of an amused indifference, "You wanna do something?"

"Nope, I'm good." Dean was busy packing the shopping bags into the trunk of the Impala, his back to the scene unfolding in the parking lot of the thronging local Wal-Mart.

"So I'm on your hit-list, huh?" Nate was taking it down-town, it seemed, "Well lookit – whatever Meg is offering you bozos I'll double it if you'll go home back to Mommy's for Christmas."

Harry blinked heavily at Ed, who stuttered and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose while fumbling for a response.

Nate's eyebrows rose and her lips curled upwards, "So?"

"Y…y…you couldn't possibly…I mean…what's that even…" Ed was completely thrown off guard, pausing to remove his glasses entirely and rub at their lenses while blinking wildly at Nate, who was about three inches from his face at that point in the confrontation, "H…how do you even know it's…"

"Look, I don't really give a fuck who tipped you off. I mean hell," Nate's laughed was extremely insincere as she spread her arms wide and leant back, blatantly showing off her chest as she did so, "I'm US Weekly front cover news, right? Sam Winchester's little bitch. But you know what?" She advanced on Ed once more, this time fogging up the freshly-cleaned lenses of his glasses with her breath as she tilted up her chin in his face, "That ain't the half of it. So why don't you take this little token of goodwill…"

Ed glanced down at the rumpled bill that Nate shoved into his fist and back up at her raised eyebrows.

"…and hit the road?" She finished.

Harry leant over his partner's shoulder, "Is that…Grover Cleveland?" His eyes darted from the money to Nate, "This is a thousand dollar bill. They're not in circulation."

"Yet I think you'll find they're still just as valid at the bank." Nate smiled coyly as she tilted her head to the side, "So? What do you say?"

Ed fumbled, re-adjusting his glasses and taking a step back from the young woman as Harry tugged at his sleeve and conferred a whisper in his ear. Nate leant back on the clog heels of her boots and waited, an amused – yet ever so dangerous – smile still pulling at her lips. Finally Ed swallowed thickly and wiped at his foggy glasses with the sleeve of his jacket.

"Listen sister," His nasal voice held a solid enough tone to be genuine as he pointed a finger at Nate, "We're not afraid of you. We know what you're here to do and we're gonna stop you."

"GhostFacers," Harry chimed in, "are gonna stop you."

"Fine then." Nate, to their chagrin, did not seem remotely shaken by the threat as she turned on her heels, head still glancing over her shoulder to flash a nasty, squint-eyed smile at the odd duo, "Merry Christmas, boys." When she finally swivelled her head to look back at Dean and Sam, her face was a picture of contempt, "Shall we go?"

"Now you wait just a minute!" Ed snagged the arm of Nate's jacket and she turned to him with an amused expression, "You think you can just blow us off? We're the new hot face of your nightmares, princess! You make a wrong move and you're history."

Dean slammed the trunk of the Impala shut and swivelled to face the scene behind him, "That's the last of it. Sam, Nate, you comin'? Kelly's already shown up and Lisa wants me home before the murdering commences, so let's go, chop chop."

"I…" Ed stammered angrily at the flippant dismissal of his and Harry's warning, "This isn't over, guys! Y…you better just watch your freaking backs out there, alright? Cuz we'll be there…to…you know…" He blinked at having come to a dead-end, "…be watched and…stuff."

Dean gave the two amateur hunters a long, appraising stare before he nodded and clapped Ed on the back a little harder than was necessary, "Merry Christmas, boys."

* * *

Kenny G's Christmas album tinkled in long, soft saxophone notes in an attempt to warm the otherwise frosty atmosphere at Dean and Lisa's table. It was a thick, square table that sat eight comfortably enough – but didn't allow for much leg room. Lisa wasn't a socialite, but alongside Dean she always managed to appear as such, considering the fact that the only people her husband would ever invite to dinner were his brother and occasionally Castiel. Bobby had an open invite but the older hunter was growing less hardy and the long drives in the cold were more taxing than they had used to be.

This particular Christmas dinner was the frostiest occasion Dean and Lisa had had to weather to date.

There was Ben, who had been grounded till Hell froze over (or the year 3000 – whichever came first). The sullen teenager sat slouched, silent and fuming in his chair beside his aunt, his eyes lidded heavily and his fork scraping angry circles on the tablecloth.

There was Sam, who seemed lost entirely in his own consciousness, his face pensive and brooding (as Chuck so accurately described it) as he focused on avoiding his food…and Kelly's over-zealous displays of attention.

Oh yes. There was Kelly. Lisa made a firm commitment to extend invites to her recalcitrant _hermanita _at every major family event held. The only exception to the rule had ever been Sam's birthday, at which occasion Lisa would quietly overlook Kelly in the face of frightening Sam into nothing more than drinks with Dean at some underground bar to escape the lewd fascination Kelly seemed to hold for the younger Winchester brother.

Kelly was twirling one blonde hair extension in between her thumb and forefinger, her lipstick faded and slightly tainted with purple from the dark mauve of the wine in her nearly empty glass.

She'd already drained six glasses. Starting the evening with a bang as usual.

Kelly wasn't alone.

There was Nate. The young woman had apparently decided that surliness and Christmas did not go hand-in-hand, and had replaced the usual awkward animosity she wore so well with a veneer of holiday cheer…

Nate's own particular brand, at any rate. And it came in the form of a bulky tartan thermos she had evidently procured at Walmart and was nursing with what she clearly (and wrongly) assumed to be stealth.

Ben snapped out of his catatonic state long enough to wrinkle his nose at the strange item, "What is that?"

"It's coffee." Nate responded in a patronizing tone that deepened Ben's sneer, "I'm an insomniac. That's when…"

"I know what insomnia is." Ben informed her churlishly, and the girl smiled condescendingly.

"An Al Pacino film, by any chance?"

"Did someone piss in that little thermos of yours?"

"Hey!" Dean rapped on the table with his knuckles, "Some of us are trying to enjoy Christmas here, if that's okay with the preschoolers."

"Keep it clean, Benny." Kelly purred as she ruffled her nephew's hair, much to his irritation, and reached over him for the bottle of wine, "Little Miss Muffet isn't worth the energy."

"You know, I _thought_ it smelt in here. Kelly, would you close your legs please?" Sam's illegitimate daughter was proving to have a dirtier mouth then her mother.

"Alright, that's it!" Lisa thundered, slamming her fork onto the table and pushing away as she stood up, "_All_ of you are guests here – excluding Ben, much as he wishes otherwise," Here she paused to glare at her son as Ben rolled his eyes, "and if you can't keep it civil for _one_ evening, you can walk out the door _right_ now!"

"Not _you_." Sam snapped pre-emptively as Nate gratefully began to rise to her feet.

"This is insane. Do I _really_ have to separate you four?" Dean growled in annoyance, and Sam's eyebrows arched skyward indignantly.

"Me? I haven't said a _word_, Dean!"

"Exactly! _You're_ givin' us the silent treatment; _Ben's_ got a self-pity party going on over there and as for _you_ two?" The older Winchester turned to Kelly and Nate, "_Major_ case of pot callin' the kettle black."

"It's not _my_ fault the little slag can't keep her mouth shut." Kelly announced calmly as she began to carve up her turkey, "Who invited her anyway? Is she another of Lisa's attempts at a charity case?"

"Yup. Fresh from the ghettos." Nate didn't appear to consider the matter worth her time and merely leant back in her chair while taking another swig of her thermos and raising her eyebrows at her father, "Right, Sam?"

"Dean, would you please carve me some more turkey?" Lisa extended her plate towards Dean with a determined look that ordered him to ignore any further bickering or _else_.

He complied, clearing his throat with a cough as he sliced a ribbon of tender breast meat and scraped it onto Lisa's plate, "Anyone up for seconds? Sam? Ben?"

"I'm good." Sam's jaw was grit and his eyebrows were tilting at an upward slant that had _Worried_ stamped all over it. His eyes darted at Kelly who was leaning back in her seat beside him and seemed eerily content – and silent.

Dean watched with growing curiosity as Sam shifted in his chair restlessly and looked ready to bolt, his narrow cheekbones flushing notably.

All of sudden, Nate pushed away from the table and stood up, a look of unrestrained disgust causing her nose to crinkle ever so slightly and her jaw to tighten.

"Lisa, can I use your bathroom?"

"Uh sure….first door to your right." Lisa motioned towards the hallway, and Nate split – but not before flashing a menacing eye roll of revulsion in Kelly's direction.

Ben watched Nate's grey bootcut jeans disappear around the corner before he turned to lean in on Dean.

"Why is she even here? I thought she was meant to be _leaving_." Ben demanded petulantly, and Dean glanced over at Sam to see if his brother was going to pretend he couldn't hear his nephew's whisper-yelling or not. But Sam was already rising to his feet and pawning off some excuse about needing air to a visibly frustrated Lisa. Dean decided Ben's question deserved an answer. Nate had been nothing but a condescending pain in Ben's ass and Dean felt he at least owed his stepson an explanation.

Scooting his chair to the side and draping an arm across the back of Ben's, Dean watched Kelly follow Lisa into the kitchen (no doubt to ensure that more wine was on its way) before turning back to Ben.

"Look, Ben, um…" Dean scratched the back of his neck. For some reason he'd pictured this being easier.

"Nate's your sister, isn't she?" Ben cut in, his eyebrows quirking confidently at what he assumed to be an excellent assessment of the situation, "From John? I mean, the numbers add up – and you can't deny there's one hell of a resemblance."

Dean was speechless. He opened his mouth to correct Ben's mistake, but after a long, appraising look at the teenager, Dean shut it again and swallowed back the truth. The truth was over-complicated and sticky. The less Ben knew about Nate and the surrounding circumstances, the better chance Ben's plausible deniability would protect him.

Dean allowed a slow smirk, "Can't get anything by you, huh?"

"I'm not calling her Aunt." Ben informed him ruthlessly as he returned to his plate, and Dean snorted.

"Yeah I can't say I blame you."

"Okay – so when are we opening presents?" Kelly clapped her over-decorated fingers together as she and Lisa returned to the dining room, then paused and glanced around, "Sam and Nate still missing? Huh."

Dean grimaced at the filthy innuendo as both women retook their seats, "Don't be gross."

"I'm not the one getting it from a _pubescent_." Kelly objected casually, but the blush that was visible even from under her thick layer of foundation suggested she was clearly combusting with jealousy.

Dean found himself secretly wishing Abezethibou would show up and crash the party right about then. It would serve Kelly right – Nate too, for that matter…

Sam as well, come to think of it.

_Little bitches._ Dean drained his glass and nodded at Ben, "You ready to open presents, buddy?"

"Dean," Lisa gave him a sidelong glance, her exquisitely crimped hair ruffling in perfect curls as she turned her head with an uncertain expression Dean knew all too well, "Aren't we at least going to have dessert?"

"Maybe we should just put it on hold for now." Kelly was adjusting the sequinned strap on her babydoll gown, displaying a perfectly even tan line for which it was evident she had paid a decent amount of cash, "Sam and Natey might be awhile."

"Uncle Sam's _outside_." Her nephew informed her, moving away from his chair with brightness in his eyes that suggested Ben had missed the less-than-subtle insinuation and was eager for the presents.

Innocence was truly bliss when it came to the dysfunctional Winchester-Braeden circle.

"I'll get him." Dean was on his feet in a flash, ignoring Ben's frown as he circled the table to head for the doorway, and when Ben opened his mouth to protest, a sharp look from Lisa reminded him that he was grounded to the floorboards and wasn't to push his luck on the matter. He resumed his seat with a sigh.

"Can we at least have some ice cream?"

* * *

Dean shut the front door behind him and stepped out into the crisp night air. A thick layer of snow had fallen and coated the neighbourhood in a soft, downy blanket of white purity. Car tracks had turned the street into sludge, but the rooftops, fences, cars and lawns were glistening with the reflection of a dozen Christmas lights.

It was as silent a night as they were ever going to get, Dean reasoned as his boots crunched the snow underfoot and he glanced around for Sam.

Dean settled on following Sam's oversized footprints which led him around the side of the house into the alleyway beside their garage. He shook his head and muttered to himself about the ratio of times per year he ended up tracking down his not-so-little brother.

If Dean had a nickel for every occasion…

The older hunter's musings were brought to an abrupt halt at the sight of one of the recycling bins flying around the bend.

Mumbling an expletive and scanning the area for any possums, Dean collected himself – but maintained the tight grip he was exerting on his trusty handgun drawn on impulse.

"Sammy?" He called out as he cautiously rounded the bend. Sure enough, a giant scuffle was taking place and as usual, _Sammy_ was smack-dab in the middle of it. The younger Winchester was wrestling a small, slender figure clad that was a blur of black, purple and porcelain. Sam managed to get in a good kick that sent her flying into the snowed-over flower bed, and it was then that Dean realized his brother's assailant was Meg Masters.

"Hold it!" He snapped, handgun levelled at Meg as she picked herself up out of the clods of soil and sludge to lunge at Sam, "I mean it, bitch, I'll put a hole the size o' Maine in that pretty little meatsuit."

"Dean, I was handling this." Sam was choosing this untoward moment to protest his brother's help.

"Yeah, bang-up job there, Sammy." Dean narrowed his eyebrows at Meg, who sighed in irritation and began dusting clods of dirt off her jacket, "So what's behind this unexpected little social call, Meg? Feelin' lonely on Christmas?"

"Don't get your hopes up, Tiny Tim. I came to talk to Nate." The female demon informed him, and Sam growled low in his throat, enlightening his brother as to the current (highly toxic) situation.

"Well no offence, but your timing sucks." Dean didn't lower his gun, but his facial features relaxed somewhat – mirror opposite to Sam, whose jaw was clenched so tightly it seemed as though his teeth might crack, "Come back tomorrow – oh and uh…bring a bottle of somethin'."

Meg's eyebrows rose sharply, sending a ripple through the smooth white ocean of her skin, "Can't do that, Dean. You see, little Niecie double-crossed me – never a good idea on the best of mornings, huh Sam?" She cast a shrewd glance his way, and the man's glare intensified, "Anyway," Meg smiled at the knowledge she was making Sam's skin crawl as she began to slowly pace, boots crunching in the snow, "I was certain I was screwed when I saw you'd locked Natey up in that Panic Room of yours, but then you went and brought her _here_." She spread her hands at her surroundings, "I mean, don't get me wrong, this joint's security is impressive, but if you thought it was keeping _me_ out? You had another thing coming, didn't you?" Her grin broadened as she aimed it at Dean, whose facial expressions appeared incredibly pleased all of a sudden, "What's got you lookin' all smug there, Deano?"

"That would be _me_." Nate Winters piped up from behind Meg at the precise moment that she hurled a demon-slaying knife at her head.

Naturally, Nate being Nate, her aim was so unfortunate that she not only missed Meg entirely, but Dean actually had to duck to avoid being stabbed as the knife sailed over his head.

"Oh come on. Seriously?" Dean protested in disbelief, spreading his hands in incredulity as he glanced from the fallen knife to Nate's chagrined expression, "Were you even _aiming_?"

"I think you got the wrong end of the stick here, Meg." Nate began, her palms opening defensively as she held them in front of her to ward off the advancing female demon.

"Save your breath." Meg fairly spat, and it was evident to all present that she was taking this one very, very personally, "You know I actually thought I had you figured, Winters – but just when it seemed you couldn't sink any lower, congratulations, you pulled it off."

"Easy," Dean cautioned quietly as Sam, who had scooped up the knife from the snow, clenched it tightly in his fist and took a step towards Meg, "Let'em talk."

"Slipping me a fake? Did you really think you were going to get away with that?" Meg stopped circling Nate long enough to let out a laugh, "And using Crowley, that over-the-hill, two-timing son of a bitch to do the double-crossing? How refined."

"You think that's smooth?" Nate's smile was acerbic as she bobbed her eyebrows, "Try my ten-oil massage."

Meg let out a mocking laugh before diving at Nate, clearly intent on pounding her into the snow, but instead flew backwards and smashed into the garage wall. As the demon scrambled to pick herself up off the ground, she realized Sam had positioned himself between her and the bane of her existence – who, as per usual, was balking about it.

"Sam, this has _nothing_ to do with you!" Nate growled as she moved forward to advance on the injured Meg, only to have her bicep unceremoniously snagged.

"Get inside." Sam commanded with a snap to his voice that even Dean knew not to mock (although he often ignored such wisdom and did so regardless when he was hard-up for entertainment or needed a fight).

"_You_ get inside!" Nate insisted in a tone that was more frustrated then insulted as she tugged at Sam's grip and caught Meg's eyes, "Look, just get us out of here so we can hash this out alone."

"Oh my pleasure, sunshine." Meg flicked her hair over her shoulders and cocked an eyebrow, "Sammy, can I borrow your precious little angel? I'd say this'll only take a minute, but honestly? I'm planning on it being so much longer than that."

"Such a tease..."

"Shut up!" Sam interrupted Nate's snide response, keeping up his grip on her arm as he turned to Dean, "Take her inside."

"_You_ take her inside. I've gotta deal with Ms Gatecrasher here." The older Winchester pointed a thumb at Meg before addressing her in person, "Hey by the way, the next time you wanna play the Grinch who stole Christmas, how about takin' a leaf outta Jim Carrey's book and paintin' yourself green…"

"Enough!" Meg reached out for Nate, "Let's take this somewhere private, sweetheart." Her dark eyes danced in Sam's direction accompanied by a broad grin, "God knows that's how your _daddy_ used to like it."

"What'd you just say, bitch?" Dean was notoriously infamous for his ability – or lack thereof- to throw any attempts at making nice into the nearest proverbial bin bag at the merest dig towards his younger brother's somewhat dicey past. Especially when it was a dirty slur and proof was absent.

Nate took the smallest step back from Meg, her face unreadable as she crossed her arms over her chest, "You know, I _hope_ you don't think that was just _original_, do you? Dredging up dirt on _Sam_? Oldest freaking trick in the book with you people, and my _God_ have there been hundreds." The girl's heavy stage curtain of a guise flared aside with a gust of anger as Nate adopted a whiny, mocking tone, "'Sam Winchester fell prey to Ruby's wiles, drank gallons of demon blood, started the Apocalypse, yo' daddy's so evil that Satan called, he wants his heart back'. You know, 'guilty by association' isn't just a Morgan Freeman film!"

"Dean, that is _it_…" Lisa had chosen that precise moment in time to tromp around the corner, Ben in tow, but both froze at the sight of Meg – and at Nate's angry tirade.

"What's _she_ doing here?" Ben seemed to be setting the matter aside momentarily in favour of glaring at Meg, who sighed in annoyance.

"And all the Who's in Whoville just showed up to crash the party."

"Lisa, get Ben inside." Dean's eyes were deadly and pinned to Meg as Lisa pressed her lips together and gripped her son's shoulders to halt him in his tracks.

"How'd she get in?" Ben was still struggling with Meg's presence and he turned large brown eyes on Dean, "You said we were safe here."

"_You_ are." Sam called pointedly with a meaningful – and virulent – cock of his head at Meg, "_She_ isn't."

"Let's go inside." Lisa tugged at Ben, who lagged as they headed back towards the house. Dean watched mutely as they left, noting Lisa's backwards glance which read that she would be expecting answers in the double figures once all of this was over.

"Now that we've dispensed with the all the fanfare," Meg seemed highly pleased at being alone with the three dysfunctional members of the group once more, "I want the book, Winters – tonight, or Martha May gets strangled with her Christmas lights."

"You'll get it." Nate's response was flat.

"Whoa, whoa, hold up. The _book_?" Dean's eyes furrowed and he stepped closer to Nate, "There's a _book_ involved?"

"Nate?" Sam hunched sideways, hands bunched by his hands, to gain eye contact, his tone identical to Dean's in its dangerous tenor, "What book?"

Meg's laughter punctured the swollen moment as she backed off a few paces to gloat, "Looks like I'm not the _only_ one little Cindy Lou's been lying to. How does it feel, boys?"

"_Why_ is she still here?" Sam fairly spat the question at Dean, who waved him away impatiently.

"Why don't you just let me handle Jim Carey while you find out how far down your daughter's name is on the Naughty or Nice list, okay, Sammy?"

"Can we let this _ridiculous_ Dr Zeus reference die its death now?" Nate jammed her fists against the sides of her skull in frustration, "We sort of have more pressing issues to attend to, if none of you object!"

"Shut up!"

Meg, Sam and Dean simultaneously barked the order and then proceeded to share an uncomfortable moment of silence and stolen glances.

Nate scoffed at the thick night air, creating a whisper of intractable vapour that all but clouded the girl's vacant expression. The heavy curtain had fallen once again.

"I'll get you the book." Nate began walking backwards as she aimed an eyebrow-raise at Meg before starting to turn.

Sam's eyes and nostrils flared at the notion that she was even contemplating walking away from the conversation, "_Nate_."

"You can all go back to Hell." She informed the trio, the orange glow of the security light richoeting off the snow and glancing off a glimmer of moisture in Nate's eyes as the young woman turned on her heels and trudged purposefully away.

Meg licked her lips and tucked her hands into her pockets, raising a wry eyebrow at the silence that had temporarily overtaken the Winchester brothers before she spoke.

"Nice job, Sam. And here I thought _you_ had the corner on the Drama market."

"No demon guts in the flower bed, Sammy." Dean laid a calming hand on his younger brother's shoulder as the man took a not-so-involuntary step forward and the overhead light gave a violent sputter.

"Now, Dean, can we _really_ blame Sam for this little display of temper?" Meg tutted with a twist of her vessel's perfect features as she kept her hands in the pockets of her jeans and leant her left shoulder against the garage wall, "I mean, come on – if Natey had been _your_ kid, you'da _ganked_ yourself by now."

"You got five seconds to clear my lawn or I'll…"

"Oh don't flatter yourself; you think I honestly want to stick around?" Meg's eyebrows arched and she laughed deep in her throat at the notion, "Gratifying as it would be to hang around and watch the dysfunctional pile of crap you boys call _family_ destroy itself from inside-out? I've got some merrymaking of my own to do."

"_Dean_."

"What's this book I keep hearing about?" Dean ignored Sam's monosyllabic demand to make Meg's entrails her extrails as he persisted at taking care of the slightly more pressing issue.

"A book of spells." Meg's eyes flickered to the side as she watched Sam's every move cautiously, knowing full that if he pounced, she would be hard-pressed to take him at that moment, "It's a family heirloom. Your daughter stole it – I want it back."

"Wouldn't happen to be ancient and leatherbound and _nope_ haven't seen it." Dean's sentence changed course abruptly as Sam's fist connected solidly with the small of his back.

"Well Nate has until midnight to return it." Meg responded huffily.

"Or what?" Sam seemed to have regained some semblance of calm as he let out a laugh at Meg's inflated notion of her own abilities, "You'll huff, puff and blow our house down?"

"This isn't some douchey 'Witchcraft for Dumies' book here, Sam." Meg seemed, for once, in earnest as she approached the tall hunter with what was almost honesty in her voice, "This is ancient magic, spells that are literally taboo in even the darkest corners of Hell because of what they could mean. The person with this book in their possession is risking death with every passing second from both sides of the war because they are a walking threat." She wrinkled her eyebrows with a pout, "Do you _really_ want Nate Winters, with all her impulsiveness and her vindictiveness and her secrets…not to mention her _bloodlines_…walking around with that book in her hands?"

Sam's jaw was still clenched and his eyes lidded slightly as he glared coldly at Meg, but his gaze flashed to Dean for a moment, and his brother responded to the brief uncertainty in Sam's face that expressed Meg had hit an uncomfortable nerve.

Dean stepped in.

Dean always stepped in.

"What makes you think," He wore a vicious smile directed at Meg, "we want it in _yours_?"

Meg shrugged, "Think of me as the lesser of two evils."

"Uh yeah there's the hitch – see, _you're_ evil. _Natey's_ just obstinate."

"I was talking about _Crowley_." Meg snapped, "He wants that book as badly as I do. More so, as a matter fact. Enough to consider Nate's death a fair price, if push comes to shove – and it will."

Sam scoffed out another laugh at the statement, "Tell him to bring it on."

"Same old Sam Winchester." Meg raised an eyebrow and smiled with a purse of her lips, "You know, false bravado's _such_ a turn off."

"You would know." Sam's smile had vanished and in its place was a hard look of malice.

"Midnight, Sammy." Meg began to walk away, looking over her shoulder to flash one last wicked smile as she did so, "I'd leave a card, but…" she winked, "you've got my number."

Dean and Sam watched her slim figure disappear into the snow before the former spoke.

"I _really_ hate that bitch."


	14. Chapter 14

They made their way back inside the house, slipping quietly (or so they thought) through the back door and clicking it shut softly behind them. But neither Sam's paranormal abilities nor Dean's hunting skills could successfully hide them from the brown-haired woman standing with her arms crossed awaiting their entrance.

Dean fairly jumped as he nearly bumped smack into Lisa.

"Whoa."

"You two better have a damn good explanation as to what _Meg_ was doing in my yard."

"It's _our_ yard." Dean pointed out pettily, but an eyebrow-raise from Lisa squelched any further protests.

"You _promised_ me that nothing could get inside."

"Nothing _can_!" Dean protested, "Alright? Meg had an in."

"A _what_?" Lisa demanded incredulously, and here Sam interjected.

"In order for a demon to cross boundaries like the ones Dean's set up, they need to have a connection with something or someone inside of the circle."

"So what, you mean someone _helped_ Meg get inside?" Lisa didn't seem ready to buy into that theory just yet, "One of _us_?"

Dean flashed Sam a petty look of mock-questioning, "Sam, _really_?"

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and focused on responding to Lisa, "Not intentionally."

"We _hope_." Dean added with another knowing eye-brow raise at his sibling.

Sam gave Dean a long, baleful stare.

The older Winchester cleared his throat and refrained from further jibing as Sam continued.

"We think Meg is connected to an object on this property. She mentioned a book."

"You think one of us has it?" Lisa squinted at her husband, and Dean deferred to Sam with a nod in his direction.

Lisa turned back to the tall man, "Sam? What's going on?"

He sighed, opening and closing his mouth a few times before settling on spitting it on, "Nate has the book Meg's after. We have until midnight to return it or else…"

"Or _else_," Dean intoned heavily as he cut Sam off mid-sentence, "Meg threatened to turn Sammy here into a red-tailed fox. Now personally, I would _pay_ to see that happen…"

"But since it _won't_," Lisa stopped Dean in his tracks, "how do we get the book to Meg?"

"It's simple, really." It was Nate, and she looked calmer then anybody had ever seen her. It was bordering on creepy. Sam, Dean and Lisa eyed each other with suspicion on their faces – faces that morphed into shock as the girl actually handed Sam a thick, foul-looking book.

"Here. Merry Christmas."

Sam's eyes were wide as he looked down at the spell book, and his mouth opened and closed more than once before he finally eyed Nate with scrutiny.

"Really? That's it? No 'now you have to let me kill my liver'?"

"You seriously think I'd let _Lisa_ take the flack for all of this?" Nate had the audacity to look injured at the apparent lack of trust, "Thanks for the vested faith."

"What?" Lisa turned to her husband, "Dean, what is she saying?"

"Nothing, okay? Meg dishes out threats like they're Halloween candy. It's nothing to worry about." He nudged his brother, who was still blinking in disbelief, "Right, so we got, what, two hours to nail this thing? How do you want to do this?"

Sam snapped back into hunter mode, "We should probably call Bobby."

"What about Crowley?"

"What _about_ him?"

"Are we trusting him now or what?"

"Wait. What?" Nate was suddenly a little less flowery as she interjected with a finger in the air, "What the hell do Bobby and Crowley have to do with giving the book to Meg?"

"Nobody's giving _Meg_ the book. Are you insane?" Dean eyed his niece as though she had just grown a third head, and Nate responded in a similar fashion.

"I thought that was the _plan_."

"Uh huh? Tell you what – why don't you go pour yourself some eggnog and let _us_ worry about 'the plan', alright sweetheart?"

Sam pulled a 'that was so not constructive' scowl at his brother, "_Dean_."

Nate scowled heavily at her estranged uncle, "Giving Meg the book isn't going to kill you."

"No, just make us stronger, right, like uh…paralysis?"

"I have had it up to _here_ with your bullshit." The young woman snarled, advancing on Dean, "Just give her the damn book and I promise the only thing it'll earn you is some time."

"Right, you promise, and we're just supposed to buy that?" He responded, and Nate folded her arms with a roll of her eyes before looking away and clamping her mouth shut.

Sam hesitated at the sudden halt in argument from his daughter. Apparently Nate had given up attempting to convince them of her validity. He turned to Dean and found scepticism staring him in the face.

Sam tightened his lips and shrugged helplessly. Dean's eyes grew sharper, but it was evident he was giving his brother the reins on this particular issue.

When Sam turned back to Nate, she found acceptance in his face.

"Alright. We'll give Meg the book."

Deans stiffened in disapproval but made no further remark on his little brother's decision.

Nate smothered her shock in a casual nod. "I'll set up a meet."

"No need."

Faces hardened all around as Meg Master showed up, sporting a smug grin that nearly everybody present felt compelled to wipe right off her face.

"Well," The demon stopped an inch short of Nate's mouth and gave the girl a long, appraising once-over which neither Sam nor Dean appreciated whatsoever, "I see you and Daddy Dearest are on better terms then when I left. Trusting women again, are we, Sammy?" Here she cast Sam a coy grin, and he glared back as he tossed the heavy book onto the snow-covered ground.

"Just take it and leave before we change our minds."

Meg pouted at him mockingly, "Someone needs a hug."

"Don't you have anything better to do than antagonize my family?" Lisa demanded with a caustic raise of her eyebrows, and the demon let out a guffaw of disbelief.

"Your family," Meg shook the book briefly in Sam and Dean's direction while her eyes remained focused on Lisa, "killed my father. They've butchered my kind like cattle for years – you don't think a little payback is in order?"

"You're _demons_." Lisa snapped curtly.

"You're racists." Meg replied with a tight eyebrow raise.

"We're _humans_." Lisa corrected her, "And this is our planet. You don't like the way we do things, then stay off our turf."

"Oh this is nuts." Dean turned to his wife, "Seriously, reasoning with a _demon_? This isn't PTA."

Lisa bristled at the verbal lash and looked ready to dish out one of her own, but unfortunately for her, Dean had some back up this time.

"Trust me, Lisa, she's not worth your breath." Sam was half-glaring, half-smirking at Meg in a way that anybody who was acquainted with the hunter would identify as lethal. Dean recognized the look instantly – it was the patented Sam Winchester 'I am officially going to rip out your insides' expression.

Meg Masters, however, appeared to be riding the crest of her triumph for the moment, and acknowledged Sam's wordless promise with a saucy wink as she sauntered away.

"Great doing business with you boys. Winters," She nodded with a wry smile at Nate as she backed towards the allegedly impregnable picket fence, "I'll be seeing you."

Nate's lips twitched in readied response, but the girl seemed to sense the heat of Sam's eyes on her, and she swallowed her secrets with a benign smile and flutter of her fingers at Meg's retreating figure.

"I don't even wanna _know_ what _Meg_ is gonna do with that thing." Dean spoke the words without a hint of sarcasm in his voice – only a grimness that matched the expression on his face as he took hold of Lisa's wrist while keeping his eyes on the swirl of light snow into which Meg had vanished, "Come on. Let's go inside."

Lisa complied, though she did flash a glance askance at Sam and Nate as Dean led her towards the door.

"Sam, you two coming?"

"Sure." Sam's eyes were glued rigidly to the spot where Meg had disappeared from sight, the slight clench to his jaw and the tilt in his shoulders suggesting that a plot was forming in his mind even as he spoke.

Nate's glance flickered from casual to worried – frightened, almost – as she hazarded a look up at her father.

"Don't." The word was quiet and without emphasis, yet it carried enough weight to sink a verbal Titanic.

Sam peeled his gaze away from the street – and his mind away from scheming – to fix both on his daughter.

"She's not worth your breath, Sam." Nate's eyebrows rose and a half smile played at her lips, but other than said teller, the girl appeared genuine as she headed after Dean and Lisa, "Coming, Pops?"

Sam felt his frown lines deepen in frustration as his hodgepodge of a family made their way back inside the proverbial Fort Winchester (nobody knew exactly where the nickname had originated from, but it had Ben's trademark stamped to its forehead). Nate's muted grin and knowing brow arch tugged at Sam's nerve endings and the hunter narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

He knew that look. He'd seen it in the mirror on more than one occasion.

_That kid_ (in Nate's case, Sam used the term liberally and yet oh-so-pointedly) _is up to something major. _

* * *

Christmas Day came cold and grey over Cicero. Carollers roamed the snow-covered streets and hovered outside residences, their singing boisterous and compelling.

It was driving Ben out of his mind.

He glared menacingly at the group of neighbours carolling outside the picket fence of his house and gripped the lace curtain tightly in his fingers.

God, when were they going to shut the hell up?

Ben recognized Mr Murphy, his history professor, clad in a brightly stripped green and red scarf, his plump face rosy from the brisk winter air and his mouth somehow managing a beaming smile between verses of 'Joy to the World'.

Mr Murphy almost didn't appear the sadistic dispenser of impossible homework that he was, Ben thought with a tightening of his lips.

One of the carollers caught his eye then, and Ben quickly dropped the curtain and stepped away from the window. Lisa and Dean were still asleep, and Kelly was passed out on the sofa, her meticulous appearance a wreck complete with laddered tights stretched over legs that sprawled out from under the blanket Lisa had thrown over her in the night.

Sam had taken off pretty quickly after Meg had shown up, and Dean and Lisa had put on a very strained show of enthusiasm as Ben opened his presents before heading upstairs to engage in a lengthy midnight conversation that had dragged into the bitter watches of the night.

Ben could still the raised voices – they never yelled, not with him in the next room, anyway. The walls of his house were solid but not thick enough to drown out the occasional strongly-worded statement.

Ben shrugged on his jacket, took one last look at his aunt's unconscious frame draped over the cough, and ducked out the back door.

The cold hit him like a slap in the face, flushing Ben's cheeks accordingly. He tugged at the checked scarf wrapped messily around his neck and pulled the door closed quietly behind him. Ben rounded the corner to the thin alley alongside the garage that led to the front of the house, kicking at a discarded beer bottle as he dug his hands into his pockets for warmth.

"You runnin'?"

Ben fairly leapt in his skin as he came upon Nate Winters. The girl was leaning casually against the garage wall, legs crossed at the ankles and arms folded at the elbows. Her faded leather jacket looked threadbare and seemed to provide her little protection from the chill, though the unaffected, almost bored expression on Nate's features suggested otherwise.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were at Sam's." Ben was no mood for a double dose of surliness, having his own to deal with at that particular moment, and the bite to his voice implied as much.

Nate ignored the remark, "Look, I'll cut straight to the chase. I know you're not overly-fond of me."

"That's a mild way to put it." Ben inched by her and continued walking in the direction of the front yard. Nate followed him.

"I'm also assuming that by now Dean's either told you who I am or you've figured it out for yourself." Her brown hair seemed even darker than usual under the drab cover of the winter sky, and the light bouncing off her grey eyes was more a of a glint than a shine.

"Is this the part where we hug?" Ben could see the picket fence now, but stopped short of leaving the cover of the alley due to the carollers still occupying the pavement outside their property. Ben could clearly make out Scotty DuVall's mother amongst the annoying group and was cursed by the unfortunate luck of her, as the mother of his friend, being fully aware that Ben was grounded till the cows came home.

Not to mention that Mrs DuVall was the neighbourhood gossip and had by now surely informed at least ten of the mothers in her circle of Ben's grounding. Ten of whom considered Dean to be God's gift to the female species and would coo out 'how high, stud?' if he told them to jump.

"You want in on the action?" Nate's matter-of-fact query compelled Ben to turn and face her.

Nate raised her eyebrows, "Got an in-road for you if you're interested."

"I'm not."

"Sure you are. What you're not is _stupid_." She flashed him a tight smile, "You know Dean would have a fit if he found out you were doing anything with _me_. What you don't seem to get is that I'm not stupid either, Ben. I want to help you."

"Then leave." Ben finally lost his temper, and the bottled-up turmoil he'd been staving off since Dean and Lisa's fight the previous night spilled out as he spoke, "Ever since you showed up here, there's been nothing but trouble. You want to do me a favour? Take the next train south."

Ben stormed past Nate, determined to head back inside and wait it out. This time, however, Nate was in his face.

"Sam got a phone call this morning. Turns out the Cohen family two blocks down just lost their oldest daughter to the shower stall last night. He and Dean are going down there this morning to see if your water demon's made a move. You want in?"

"Why ask me?"

"Just thought you wanted to hunt."

"Not with you."

Nate gave him a long, appraising stare, "You seem like a smart kid, Ben." Here he rolled his eyes, which she ignored, "I know what it feels like to be sidelined. You want off the bench or not?"

"Look," Ben stamped his tennis shoe against the snow in frustration, "just because you're Sam and Dean's little sister doesn't make us family all of a sudden! You can't just show up here and…"

"_Sister_?" Nate's eyebrows crinkled, "Is that what they said?"

Ben swallowed awkwardly, "Well…aren't you?"

Nate smiled, "Not exactly."

The betrayal hurt like a knife in the gut. Ben did his best to clamp down on the sting in his eyes, but he found himself turning away to hide the distress on his face from Nate's view. Half of him wanted to slug the annoying girl in the face for the trouble she was causing in his otherwise imperfect but happy life.

The other half wanted answers – and Ben had a pretty good idea of where he _wasn't_ going to get them.

"Hurts, don't it? When they lie." Nate was still behind Ben, waiting for him to regain control of his adolescent emotions – emotions which she had intentionally bent to her own purposes. _Not necessarily selfish ones_, she reminded herself as she brushed off a whisper of guilt. Ben would be gaining from the experience as well in the form of vital knowledge that Dean and Sam evidently saw fit to shelter him from.

"I'm not here to lie to you, Ben. You want answers? I've got some up my sleeve. But I need your help."

Ben sniffed and squared his shoulders, turning back to face the girl with bleary eyes, "What kind of help?"

* * *

Dean sighed and tugged at the tie around his neck. Years and years of donning suits still hadn't fully immunized the man who by nature preferred jeans and a well-worn t-shirt.

"Dude, quit playing with that."

Beside Dean stood Sam, who had, since escaping his awkward, lanky years, always owned every suit or tuxedo he had ever worn as though it had been tailored to his frame. Dean would have appreciated that fact a little more if his kid brother hadn't also mastered the snooty airs and graces of the white collar crowd to a T.

"It's choking me." Dean informed Sam in a mutter, "I swear it shrunk in the dryer or somethin', I dunno. Lisa's using this weird-smelling softener…"

"Or you're just getting fat."

Oh right. For some reason completely unknown to Dean, Nate Winters was also along for the ride – thus presenting the final factor to ruining Dean's already less-than-ideal Christmas Day.

"I can't believe you're making me do this." Nate pre-empted the cutting response Dean had lined up as she glared across the sea of merry makers while directing the cold acid burn of her voice at Sam, "I can't believe you're making me _wear_ this."

To make matters worse, Sammy had decided to poke a chained bear by not only forcing his daughter to accompany them on an info run, but insisting that she wear 'presentable clothing'…

Dean had suffered the entire car ride in silence, but the demon on his shoulder was beginning to sell him the idea that assigning Sam and Nate to separate corners and putting a silence restriction in order might actually alleviate matters.

For once, Dean disagreed with the demon.

"Just be glad you're along for the ride." Sam was wearing a token rich-and-bored expression, and – to the irritation of both his brother and daughter – his tone was fit to match, "It was this or helping Lisa nurse Kelly back to consciousness."

"At least the second option didn't include Martha Stewart's reject pile." Nate was wearing an off-white cashmere sweater, and her normally bustled hair was pulled back in a neat, official-looking bun. The outfit did its job of adding a few token years to her real age, and the stony expression Nate was sporting lent a finishing touch to the effect.

"Oh great." Nate's usual inner surliness was spilling out in bucket-loads apparently, "Who invited Starsky and Hutch?"

"What?" Dean grimaced in question at the remark, but his face quickly morphed to match his niece's as he followed the stab of her finger to none other than Ed and Harry.

"Those two idiots just can't take a hint, can they?" He turned to Sam, "You wanna gank'em or should I?"

"You think they're here to question the Cohens?" His brother was regarding the pair with genuine bewilderment that suggested in no way gave them that much credit.

"Either that or Ed's arranging his Bar Mitzvah." Dean watched the two in contempt, "What is that, a skull cap?"

"Better than a full-length _knee_ skirt!"

"It's a _pencil_ skirt, and it would look a lot better if you left it where it supposed to sit instead of pulling at it every five seconds…"

"Alright, enough!" Dean nipped Sam and Nate's irritating father-daughter bickering in the bud as he turned to his brother, "I'll go see what I can find out from the parents. You take care of the nerd herd before they get us all killed."

Sam's expression bordered on injured, "How come _I_ get stuck with Aykroyd and Ramis?"

"Because," Dean drew himself, green eyes half-lidded and eyebrows rising slightly in what was undoubtedly a haughty manner, "I…"

"If you say 'I'm the oldest'…" Sam warned with a vicious stab of his finger and an eyebrow-raise of his own.

"Oh for crying out loud!" Nate finally broke the icy silence she'd retreated into, shoving Dean and Sam aside (with notable difficulty) and stomping between them towards Ed and Harry, "_I'll_ take the frigging Ghost Busters!"

Before either Winchester could muster a suitable response, the girl was shuffling through the crowd of mourners en route to Ed and Harry.

Dean raised an eyebrow as Nate nearly tripped in the modest black heels she was wearing and turned to Sam, "Well she definitely takes after you in the footwear department."

Sam watched his issue's less-than-graceful stomping across the room with a look of despair, "Yeah. Geri practically _floated_ in stilettos."

"One less thing to worry about, eh?" Dean clapped his brother on the flat of his broad shoulders with that same pretentious grin and then grew serious, "You sure leavin' her alone with those two douchebags is a good idea?"

This time it was Sam's turn to sport the smirk, "A _great_ idea." He corrected before turning to find the Cohens amid the throng of black-clad gatherers.

Mr Cohen was a tall, thin man with orderly silver hair and thick black eyebrows. His wife was short, plump and pleasant-looking, although the woman's face was all but shrouded behind the meshed hat she was wearing atop her greying swirl of hair.

Dean cleared his throat as the couple spotted him. They were neighbours by location, nothing more. The Cohens were pillars in the community and had been highly upset to discover one of their three, pristinely beautiful daughters at the local park with Ben after her curfew. Dean and Lisa (who were both aware of the fact that Ben was not only a virgin but also painfully shy when it came to females his own age) had done their best to smooth over the crisis but to little avail. The Cohens had shunned them from that day onward.

Mr Cohen nodded politely at Dean, "Good of you to come, Dean. Has your wife accompanied you?"

Dean noted that Ben was pointedly excluded from mention.

"Lisa's at home with Ben, but she asked us to convey her sympathies. Tabitha was a friend of hers."

Mrs Cohen's eyes, red and puffy even through the black sea of mesh, twinkled upon receiving the condolences, "Please thank her for me, Dean. Tabitha spoke very highly of Lisa and always considered her a very close friend – especially after everything that happened with Skandar…"

"Abi." Her husband shot her a pointed look, and Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Frank?"

Mr Cohen had already taken his wife's arm, "It was good of you both to come. Please excuse us – we should move on to the other guests."

Dean barely had time to register the words before Mr Cohen led his wife away from the crowd and into a corner of the room. Sam and Dean watched silently as the couple proceeded to have a quiet spat.

"Looks like we got ourselves a lead."

Sam glanced over at his brother in affirmation, "You think Abizethibou's wearing Skandar's meat?"

"One way to find out." Dean patted his brother on the shoulder, "See if you can get Abigail alone. I'll check upstairs."

"Fine, but be careful. Whatever the deal is with Skandar, Abi's husband seems pretty keen on keeping it quiet." Sam cautioned, only to have Dean wave his concern away impatiently.

"I got it, I got it. Just keep an eye on Natey, will ya? I think she's up to somethin'."

"Yeah." Sam turned to scan the crowd for his daughter and found her in a head-on conflict with Ed, who was backed up against a table and brandishing a flask of holy water, with Harry signalling frantically at his associate from his position by the front door.

Sam allowed himself a brief smirk before he quickly refocused his attention on Mrs Cohen. She was nowhere to be seen. His height advantage graced Sam with the fortunate ability to peer over various heads (and off-looking hats) in the room and he managed to catch a glimpse of Abigail Cohen disappeared into the conservatory.

"Mrs Cohen?"

She was staring wistfully out of one of many window panes lining the glass-framed room. The drabness of the day had returned in full measure, and the Cohen's modest backyard was blanketed in grey, muddy sludge that had clearly been fresh snowfall the previous night.

Sam noticed that she didn't jump, only turned slowly to flash him a tired smile. She had pulled her veil back over her hat and the exhausted grief in her face was plainly visible.

"She was a good girl." Abigail Cohen's voice cracked as she spoke softly – Sam had a feeling it was more to herself than to him, "We wanted so much for her. She was too shy to ever reach out and take anything, but we were hoping that when she met Leonard…well…"

The sentence remained incomplete. Sam took a step closer to join her by the window as the older woman extended a hand to him.

"Leonard was her boyfriend?"

"Fiancé, actually." Abigail resumed her vacant stare out of the window as she continued, "They were engaged for four months until _Skandar_ came along."

Sam seized the moment, his tone and expression a picture of the empathy he was genuinely feeling for the woman's loss. If anyone was familiar with the deep pain of a loved one's death, it was the Winchesters.

"Who was Skandar?"

Abigail sighed bitterly, "A few weeks back, Tabitha went to visit some friends in Austin. She was only planning on staying the weekend, but she ended up gone for ten days." A small tear streaked down her pale cheek, and she brushed it gallantly away, "When she came home, she was…so different. She refused to give any reasonable explanation for her behaviour. She seemed desperate to return to Austin as soon as possible, claimed she'd found the love of her life and that he was waiting for her to return so they could marry."

Sam nodded, "And that was Skandar?"

Abigail shrugged forlornly, "Who knows what his real name was? Tabby didn't say much about him. She was hardly thinking rationally at the time. My husband and I tried to reason with her, but she broke it off with Leonard and announced that she was moving to Austin to be with Skandar." Here she looked up at Sam, "I've never seen a woman so obsessively in love."

Sam's mind was assembling pieces as he spoke, "Did she go back to Austin?"

"No. She was planning on leaving this morning." Abigail's eyes, now heavy with tears, turned back to the window once again, "It all happened so fast." She whispered.

"Abigail?"

She and Sam both turned, caught off guard by Mr Cohen who stood in the doorway of the conservatory.

"Thank you for your concern, Sam." Abigail gave him a weary smile before joining her husband and returning to mingle with the guests once more.

Sam watched her leave with a face full of questions. He had a lead, thankfully. Skandar wasn't the most common of names, and a little digging around in Austin would likely reap results sooner rather than later.

It was the manner in which Abigail's husband seemed bent on shutting her down that had Sam Winchester's suspicions rousing from their dormant corner.

That and the sound of a loud crash coming from the front room of the Cohen's house followed by what sounded like a terrible attempt at a Latin exorcism.

* * *

Upstairs, Dean had made it into Tabitha's bedroom and was in the process of rifling through the top draw of her bedside dresser.

"Come on, I know you're here." He muttered under his breath, hands sweeping expertly through the hodgepodge of assorted womanly accessories to which Dean had long become accustomed after years of hunting missing girls.

Life with Lisa had done its part to keep his skills fresh, of course. Dean still had no idea what a clay pot and paintbrush had to do with hair removal, but he somehow felt wiser after stumbling upon Lisa's waxing collection nonetheless.

"There you are." Dean smiled in triumph as his fingers closed around the hardback diary as he removed it from the drawer and gave its flowered cover a knowing wink, "You're a hunter's best friend, baby. Care to take a ride?"

A sudden crash reached his ears, and Dean reacted as instinct dictated, blending into the shadows on the wall as he tugged the door open ever so slightly and peered out the hallway to assert clearance.

A second crash, a yell, a thump, the splinter of wood, and Dean noticed the sounds were coming from below Tabitha's window. He inched quickly towards the lace curtain and cautiously pulled it aside to peer into the Cohen's front yard…

Just in time to see Nate Winters fly across it in a hail of broken wood from the front door, Ed and Harry hot on her heels and blasting rock salt from their sawed-offs.

Dean's eyes narrowed, then widened in complete and utter shock.

"What the hell?"

* * *

"Exorcizamus te!" Harry was sputtering out Latin in such a strong accent that Sam would have thought him a full-blown redneck …if Sam's mind had been on Harry's horrendous pronunciation instead of the fact that he and Ed had just blown Sam's daughter through the Cohen's door with a chest full of rock salt for her trouble.

"Omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion…" Harry's attempted excorcism was short-lived as Sam, the entire population of the Cohen's front room at his heels, stormed into the yard and sent Harry flying across the sludge-covered grass with one solid punch.

Nate was flat on her back amidst the rubble of broken wood, gasping for air against the pressure smashed into her chest from the rock salt shot. She painfully propped herself up on her elbows just in time to watch Sam – looking, she noted, unabashedly angry – throw Ed like a sack of potatoes against the Cohen's barren pear tree.

The stunned gasps of the onlookers were lost on Sam as he rushed to Nate's side.

"Hey," He bent down, gripped her arm and helped her to her feet, "You okay? Come on."

Nate wanted to wrench her arms out of his grip, but it would have cost her too much breath and been a futile effort. In all honesty, she was still severely winded from the buck salt round to her chest, and Sam's tree trunk of an arm under her own lent necessary but much begrudged support.

"What is going on here?" Mr Cohen had finally emerged from behind his veneer of polite indifference and was looking rather red-faced as he stormed onto his lawn, "There had _better_ be a good explanation for this, Winchester!"

"Me?" Sam's mouth dropped open as he held Nate while she inhaled deep gulps of air, "Those idiots just shot her full of _bucksalt_!"

"He hit me!" Harry, nose broken and streaming with blood from under the hand clutching it, was slipping on his feet and aiming a finger at Sam, "Unprovoked!"

"Right, so shooting an innocent girl's no longer classed as provocation!" Sam had the sense to be more amused by the accusation than offended, though his anger was still apparent.

"Someone call the police!" A woman shrieked in the background, and Nate instantly gripped her father's arm.

"We gotta go."

"Sam!" Dean shoved his way through the crowd, "Whoa." He stopped at the carnage scattered throughout the Cohen's yard and his jaw tightened angrily in Nate's direction before his green eyes met his brother's.

"Why don't you get Nate to a hospital?" The words were loud enough for the crowd to receive the impression that Nate was badly injured – and loaded enough for _Sam_ to receive the impression that if he didn't clear her out of Dean's reach, Nate was _about_ to be.

"I don't need a hospital; I need an Ak-47!" The girl was still wheezing but the naked threat was like a whip through the air.

"_Sammy_," Dean ordered sharply, as his brother's eyes burned invisible holes in Ed's groaning figure sprawled on the snowy lawn, "Go. I'll take care of this."

Sam's mouth opened in protest, then slammed shut as Nate reeled dizzily in his grip. Dean silently thanked the little brat for finally aspiring to some form of usefulness. Sam's attention was successfully diverted from the notion of pummelling Ed and Harry into next Tuesday and focused on helping Nate across the Cohen's lawn and out to where his Focus was parked.

Dean allowed himself a moment of full-on scowling at the disappearing pair before turning to face the crowd of bewildered, angry grievers.

He spread his arms with a winsome, million-dollar smile, "Who spiked the punch, huh?"


	15. Chapter 15

**_Wow, this is overdue. Sorry - working two jobs now so things are a little off the rails. Who else is grinning at the concept of a SPN season 7? Not really sure that the quality is what it used to be, but I will never abandon Sam and Dean and that is the tragedy of it all, I suppose :). Still enjoying this, though. Leave me some feedback! Happy summer, everybody ;)._**

**_- Tyler_**

* * *

"You know," Meg was leaning back in the antique, hand-crafted guest chair that sat in Crowley's office, her boots propped up on his desk as she savoured a glass of premium whiskey, "I could get used to this."

"You won't have the chance." Crowley informed her pragmatically, "Not if Oplexicon has his way with you – and he just might, by the looks of things."

Meg's eyebrows rose, "Maybe you were too wasted during my speech to understand: we have the book. Whatever tricks Oplexicon's got up his sleeve aren't gonna put a dent in my armour by the time he comes around."

"Oh is _that_ what you think?" Crowley tucked his hands into the pocket of his suit jacket, "Nice to know my partner-in-global-dominion's an arrogant ass."

"Watch your tongue." Meg warned, her voice low and surly, "or I might just have it hacked out."

"You're bloody stupid if you think Nate Winters has done _anything_ but screw you over yet again." Crowley's voice rose to a slight yell as he slammed his whiskey glass down on the desk, "That book she gave you after your little show-down with the Winchesters? It's nothing but babble."

"_Someone's_ a sour loser." Meg mock-pouted before she smiled coyly, "Don't worry, Crowley. Fortunately, _one_ of us knows what they're doing."

"Yeah – and it's not you." Crowley came around the desk to stand beside her, and his dark eyes met her own without a hint of warmth, "Nate Winters slipped you yet another fake, darling. Trust me – I've seen the original."

Meg's acid retort caught in her throat as she glared menacingly at the crossroads demon and made no immediate effort to reply. Crowley continued, unfazed by the deadpan promise of danger.

"Oh it looks real enough – to the uneducated eye, that is. See, I have it for a fact that you can't read those symbols. They're from another age, far before your time."

"I have interpreters." Meg broke her silence to gently prod Crowley with the knife in her tone.

"True," He raised a finger, "_But_, your little know-it-alls can only _read_ the symbols. Nate Winters struck gold with whoever helped her conjure up that fake you've got there." Crowley ran his hand over the leather-bound cover, "It's good, in fact, it's bloody brilliant. You change a key word or phrase here or there, no one's going to notice. No one who hasn't read the original cover-to-cover, that is."

Meg's mouth twitched at the realization that she had yet again been conned by Sam Winchester's bastard child. The glass in her hand cracked as she suppressed the rage coming to a boil inside of her.

Crowley remained nonplussed, "Don't worry, love. Fortunately," He reached into his jacket with a malignant smile as he produced the beaten, blackened book which he had siphoned from Nate Winters after dragging her down to his wine cellar, "_one_ of us knows what they're doing."

* * *

Nate Winters rolled her eyes and clutched the icepack that Lisa had insisted on her keeping pressed against the bruising on the girl's chest. She could feel the heat of Dean's occasional glares as he sat at the kitchen table perusing Tabitha's journal after sending Sam on a research run to the library.

The man hadn't said a word to her since he'd arrived home except for a terse order to 'sit'. Nate had hissed between pants for air that if he was going to treat her like a dog, there should at least be a chew toy involved and hinted at Dean's large intestine as a prime candidate.

Lisa had been the saviour of the moment, fussing over Nate's bruised chest with a gentle sort of motherly concern that was completely foreign to the girl – and thus put her successfully on edge and kept her quiet.

"Hey – how's it feeling?" Lisa was on the prowl again. Nate tore her indifferent scowl away from Dean she peeled down the front of her tank top to expose the purple, mottled bruising – and the cleavage of her striking red bra.

"It'll be fine."

"Yeah, but my _eyes_ might have a longer recovery period ahead." Dean half-growled, half-muttered from the kitchen, his face flushing as he awkwardly averted his gaze from his niece's chest. Nate shrugged and tugged the fabric back into place. Apparently the girl was less than modest. Dean foresaw some quality rows between Sam and Nate in the not-so-distant future.

He was going to need more beer.

"I got you some Savlon cream and some Antihistamines. Oh and here's the Advil you wanted." Lisa had barely set the bag before Nate located and opened the painkiller bottle, pouring a generous helping of small orange pills into her palm before she knocked them back in one swallow.

"Thanks, Lisa."

Lisa blinked, "Those are 500 mg capsules, Nate. You should only need two at the most."

"Yeah well, sorta built up an immunity so, the more the merrier." Nate pocketed the bottle, "Hey, look…I never really got a chance to apologize for everything that happened last night. I'm sorry for ruining Christmas Eve with all the demon drama."

"Please," A tiny smile crept across Lisa's face, "it's just run-of-the-mill when you're married to a Winchester. What happened last night was not your fault, Nate."

Dean was pretty sure that his beloved wife had that particular notion wrong, but settled for biting the bullet and heading into the kitchen to grab a beer as Sam's Ford rumbled into the driveway.

Nate quickly pulled on her worn jacket, untucking long waves of thick brown hair from the collar as she threw Lisa a hurried glance.

"I gotta make a store run. Thanks again for the meds. Be back in a few."

"Nate, you don't look well at all. Why don't you rest for a while?" Lisa noticed the clammy pale tone that had come over the girl's skin – and the nervous demeanour that had come over her expression as Sam's boots crunched on the snow and then the wood of the porch.

"Honestly, I'm just winded." Nate picked up her satchel and slung it over her shoulder as she sauntered past Lisa with a promising smile, "A little fresh air will clear my head."

"Nate, you just got _shot_…" Lisa abruptly silenced her own protests as the front door opened and Nate bumped smack into Sam, nearly tumbling to the ground in the process.

"Whoa – where you going?"

"The corner store." Nate responded briskly as she attempted to sidestep the giant man – and failed miserably as Sam placed a hand across the doorway and looked at her with a mixture of amusement and incredulity.

"For what? A new set of lungs? Cuz in case you don't remember, you just got the wind knocked out of you."

"Tampons, actually." Nate smiled up at him acidly, and Sam recoiled slightly, much to her satisfaction, "Super maxi plus – you know, the kind that absorb up to 25 mls of menstrual blood?"

"You're disgusting." Sam informed his daughter sourly as he slammed the door shut, "Where's Dean?"

"Sam, get in here!" Dean called from the kitchen, "Think I found somethin'."

"Be right there." Sam returned before he handed Nate a handful of brochures and charts. Her eyebrows gathered together as she studied them.

" 'Drink yourself healthy – a guide to treating liver cirhossis'." Nate muttered off one of the titles before bunching the papers in a fist and glaring up at Sam, "Seriously?"

"This chart is a list of all the things you should be eating and drinking." Sam stated matter-of-factly, tapping one of the larger, photocopied prints, "If it's not on the grid, you can kiss it goodbye."

"Oh, no problem, in fact I think I see 'six cans of whoop ass' in the veggie section right here!" Nate hissed, snapping the paper against her thigh as she leant forward to talk in a snarled whisper out of Lisa's earshot, "Where do you get the nerve to…"

"Sammy!" Dean insisted, "Come in here and get your geek on – we got ground to cover!"

Sam raised his eyebrows at Nate, "Come on."

Invisible steam spurted from her ears at Sam's casual manner, "Think I'll pass. Last I checked I was safer hunting down Ruby's long, lost soul."

The lash slashed beneath Sam's otherwise thickened proverbial skin, as intended. Nate Winters was a mistress at button-pushing and she had found Sam Winchester's system overload in the subject of Ruby.

Still, it managed to catch Nate off guard when Sam's giant fists slammed against the wall right beside her head. If it had been dry wall, it would have caved. The plaster did crack, though, and a small cloud of powder dusted Nate's shoulder. Not that the girl noticed. Sam's face, tight and angry and crowding her own, was sort of stealing centre stage.

"You have _no_ idea what…" His nostrils flared and he clamped his mouth in shut, straining for civil word

"Sam?" Ben's voice, quiet and frightened at the foot of the stairs had both Sam and Nate retreating into their respective, heavily armed inner fortresses, "What's going on?"

"Sammy! Whole oceans are moving faster than you right now – come on!" Dean's call from the kitchen put the final nail in the coffin of that particular discussion.

"This is _far_ from over." Sam informed Nate in a mordant growl of a mutter as he headed to join his brother.

Ben inched closer to Nate, eyes still wide and confused, "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

_No – just shake me to the roots._ But Nate would be damned if she let her game face drop in front of Ben Braeden. She still needed him, and for that he would have to continue to believe that she was unbreakable.

"I'm fine. Look, did you get the keys?" She lowered her voice as Lisa bounded down the stairs with a calendar in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

"Yeah." Ben seemed decidedly nervous as he scrubbed a hand over his hair and after a moment lip-chewing, handed Nate a set of keys, "Are you sure about this? I mean, Dean said that angel _tagged_ me."

"Trust me, with this baby?" Nate raised her eyebrows as she pressed a small hex bag into Ben's sweaty palm, "You'll be invisible." She smiled at his doubting eyes, "Tried and proven recipe from the demon family cookbook. It'll work, Ben. I promise."

"How do you know so much about all this stuff? I thought you said you weren't a hunter." Ben tucked the hex bag into his pocket.

"You don't have to be a hunter to know how to best one, Braeden." Nate clapped him on the shoulder, "Brain over brawn – and if like me, you're not too heavy on either, you borrow someone else's." Nate gave him a wink, "I'll see you tonight."

Dean watched Nate clap Ben on the shoulder and wink before trudging up the staircase.

Sam nudged him, "You know, if you hold your face like that long enough it'll stick that way."

Dean shook off the heavy scowl he'd been subconsciously sporting and looked over at his brother, "So? What do you make of Hillbilly Romeo – he our guy or what?"

"Oplexicon?" Sam pulled a bitch-face, "You're getting more than just a little rusty."

"Oh would you take that stick outta your ass?" Dean grimaced sourly, "I _mean_ Abezethibou."

Sam blinked, "Why would he go to all the trouble of seducing Tabitha when ganking her in the shower was clearly not a problem for him?" He raised his eyebrows huffily at Dean, who glared.

"I don't know, Sam. That's why it's called _research_. We read this, we can find out." Dean tapped a fingertip on the page open in front of Sam, "Look at this entry, November 15th."

"'Headed for Denver again tonight." Sam read aloud, "'Got as far as the freeway before it hit me – the burning flame of my intense need. Irrational as it may sound, the idea of life without Skandar is unbearable to me. He is everything.'"

Dean gave his brother a knowing eyebrow-raise as Sam glanced up, "Creepy, right?"

"I was half-expecting to find something about an apothecary in there somewhere." Sam agreed in a tone that was half-amused, half-repulsed.

"What?"

"Nevermind. The point is _this_," Sam slapped the diary down on the table with disinterest, "sounds more like the tragic fantasy of a lovelorn virgin in her thirties than arch demon scheming –but, if it makes you feel better," he hastily added at the dark thundercloud that came over his brother at the dismissal, "we can check it out."

"Very generous, Sammy. Thank you." Dean rolled his eyes at the distant hum of carollers outside the front door, "Again?"

"It's Christmas Day." Sam reminded him.

"Oh bah, humbug."

"If we're done with the Scrooge rendition," Nate let out a dry cough into her fist as she leant against the kitchen door post and raised an eyebrow coldly, "You guys got company."

"Give'em a dollar and send'em packing." Dean announced cruelly with a dismissive wave in the caroller's directi0n as he pulled open the fridge and fished for a beer.

"Um…" Nate arched her other eyebrow to join its twin as she cast a cautionary glance over her shoulder, "I don't think it's money that they're after."

The caustic air to her voice and the quiet judgement in her eyes set Sam on edge instantly. It reminded him of Ruby's classic 'suit yourself' expression – and struck about a dozen hot nerves as a result.

Dean set his beer down on the counter with a roll of his eyes in his brother's direction, reaching into his jacket for the trusty handgun he'd had tucked away there since the previous night, "Demons?"

The girl's sardonic smile lingered, "I wish."

Sam pushed away from the table, slapping the cover of the diary closed as he did so. Peering over Dean's shoulder and into the hallway, he caught a glimpse of their visitors through the open front door…and immediately huffed.

"I don't get it. What are they doing out of jail already?" Sam aimed the accusatory question at his brother as Dean watched Lisa attempting to reason with none other than Ed and Harry at her threshold.

"Dean?" Sam went into bitch-mode as the older Winchester made no verbal response, "I thought you said the local deputy had them booked."

"Yeah not exactly." Dean finally admitted between the grit teeth of a fake smile as Ed caught his eyes, "Turns out they dropped the charges after Ed proved Xena the Warrior Princess," Here he levelled a sharp look at his niece, "got the jump on him in the men's room and under the pretext of _seducing_ him tried to cut out his _spleen_."

The uncomfortable silence that followed Dean's revelation didn't last long. Lisa'a placating voice wafting down the hallway was in stark contrast to the snap in Sam's voice as his face became a picture of complete bewilderment and horror.

"What?" He turned wide, almost frightened eyes on Nate, who rolled her own, "You came on to _Ed_?" The name might as well have been synonymous with Quasimodo for the tone Sam used.

"No, I used my womanly wiles to get him _cornered_ and as for the _spleen_ accusation," Nate, for some reason, was choosing to completely disassociate the two, "I barely _tickled_ him."

"You came on to _Ed_!" Sam repeated, louder and this time with disgust and disbelief ringing in the overtones.

"Not all of us can throw grown men into walls, Sammy. _I_ have to _improvise_!"

"_Improvise_?" Sam was outraged, and much as Dean would have enjoyed the full-out war that was clearly to ensue, he realized Harry and Ed has muscled their way past Lisa into the front hall.

His entertainment would have to wait.

"_Hey_!" Dean stomped down the hallway as Ed began to holler at his wife, "Get the hell outta her face."

"Look, take it easy, alright? We're here to rescue her!" Ed held up his hands in defence as Dean crowded him with dangerous eyes.

"Rescue her?" Dean echoed sarcastically, and Lisa shot him a wide-eyed look of apprehension.

"Dean, who are these guys?"

"Idiots, that's who." He moved Lisa to the side before turning on the Ghostfacers, "You got about _five_ seconds to clear my lawn before I sic Sam on you, and believe me when I say that bruise you're wearin' is a drop in the bucket…"

"You got some freaking nerve, you know that?" Too late. Sam was already upon them, it seemed. And of course, he was already incensed.

_Christmas Day, my ass_. "Whoa, Sammy, hang on." Dean placed a hand on his brother's chest as Ed fumbled for his handgun and Harry watched, wide-eyed and frightened, "Let's just hear him out, okay?"

"That _thing_ you call your daughter is here to _kill_ you!" Ed half-shrieked, half-whispered as sweat trickled under the lenses of his glasses, "We're just doing you a favour!"

"Okay, never mind, go right ahead." Dean patted Sam on while Harry swallowed a gulp before he stepped forward.

"That book you handed over to Meg in exchange for Lisa's safety? Nate slipped you a fake." He blinked nervously several times before continuing, "Meg just found out the spell book isn't the original and she's put a big fat price out on your wife. We're just trying to help."

Dean was quiet for a long moment before turning to Sam. His brother was also apparently lost for words. Ed, however, was full of more than enough beans for the both of them as he shook Dean's collar.

"Don't you get it? We raced the demon cloud over here. She's gotta come with us!"

"Dean?" Lisa's voice was quiet, strained, as she directed her husband's attention to the window, "What is that?"

Dean didn't need to look. He had seen the hideous billow of smoke blacken enough skies. But it was like avoiding eye contact with a car crash site – much as he hated it, Dean found himself peering out through the net curtains at the swirl of demons pummelling through the drab grey afternoon air.

Dean clutched Lisa's arm as she backed away in disbelief, "Come on." He moved her quickly through the hallway and kicked open the door to the basement, "Get inside and line it with as much salt as you can."

"Dean, what about…"

"I'll get Ben – just go!" Dean shut the door, grateful for the intensive demon-proofing he'd given the cellar of their house. It wasn't as airtight as Bobby's panic room, but it was the global runner-up and Dean was certain that between him and Sam they could hold off the demons until Castiel got his feathery butt on the go.

"Wait! What about us?" Ed was loudly demanding as the black smoke began to circle to property, hissing and steaming at the devil's trap that was inlaid under the picket fencing.

"Guard the front door." Dean tossed them both a shotgun as Sam laid out the arsenal on the kitchen table, "Where the hell is Ben?"

"I'll get him – you load the guns!" Sam was already racing through the house, his long legs carrying him with practiced speed up the stairs as Ed and Harry watched, terrified, through the windows of the front door.

"Ben?" Sam called as he reached the top of the stairs. He froze at the sound of the Impala revving into life and headed swiftly to the hallway window just in time to watch Dean's beloved baby break free of the garage doors and plough over the picket fencing before racing down the street with a noisy mewl of its engine.

"Uncle Sam?"

Sam turned, heart still in his throat as he spotted Ben exiting his room.

"What's going on?"

Sam found himself wishing for the first time in his life that he didn't know the answer to that question.

* * *

Dean watched his priceless vehicle shrieking down the road in complete disbelief. The moment of shock was short-lived, however, as the demon cloud split in two, one portion breaking through the crushed section of picket fence and the other racing after the Impala.

For a terrified moment, he imagined Ben behind the wheel – but that was merely his parental temperament briefly overbearing his hunter's instinct. Dean didn't need X-ray vision to have a clear picture of Nate Winters commandeering the Impala.

The hot anger threatened to bubble over but was consumed by the urgent need Dean was facing to somehow get them all out of this current mess.

Sam appeared with Ben in tow, glancing worriedly over his shoulder at the shuddering front door, "How's it holding?" He called out to Ed and Harry over the noise.

Harry pressed his back further against the wood and said nothing, fear plainly visible in his eyes. Ed joined him, though he appeared more composed than his cohort.

"It's not gonna last much longer!" He yelled, and Sam handed Ben over to Dean even as the boy took in the sight of the black shadows engulfing the window frames with wide eyes.

"Here, you stay with them. I'll hold'em off till Cas gets here."

"Maybe next time, Rambo. Ben?" Dean opened the basement door and handed Ben a shotgun, "Here, take this and stay with your mom. Keep it tight against your chest and keep your elbows in, you got it?"

Ben was clearly frightened, but managed a nod, "What about you guys?"

"We'll be fine. Don't let anybody in – even if it's us." Dean squeezed Ben's shoulder before he ushered him inside, "Go."

"Nate, she…" Ben began hesitantly, but the look that came over Sam's face at the name had him eating his words and ducking into the basement without another sound. Dean closed the door behind his son and heard the heavy bolts locking into place.

He cocked his gun and turned to Sam, who was still wearing what Dean recognized to be his brother's self-loathing expression. Fortunately, much as Dean was inclined to give Sam a hot piece of his mind, he needed his brother's head in the game.

"Sam? You with me? _Sam_." Dean raised his voice over the angry whispers at the windows, and Sam quickly snapped to attention at the bark.

"Come on." Dean tossed his brother a shotgun and a flagon of Holy water as Ed and Harry's cries of dismay grew louder, "They're breaking through."

"You guys, they're breaking through!" Ed hollered over the cacophony as the Winchesters appeared on the scene, totting guns and ready for action.

"So nice to see you're one step ahead of us." Dean rolled his eyes, shoving Ed aside as the wood began to splinter, "Move." Harry didn't need to be told twice as Dean and Sam levelled their shotguns at the door.

The door split down the middle, showering broken wood in every direction as a flood of thick black smoke gushed inside the house faster than the eye could blink. All four of the men cradled their heads in their hands to shield themselves against the onslaught as the stench of sulphur burnt heavy in the air.

A brilliant flash of light engulfed their surroundings, and even as Sam and Dean shut their eyes tightly, they could feel the searing heat of the angelic presence in the room. Sure enough, when the light faded and they opened their eyelids, Sam and Dean could make out Castiel, accompanied by two other angels clad in sombre black suits, marching purposefully up the ravaged garden pavestones.

"W…who's that?" Harry stammered, noting the chronic displeasure emanating from the archangel as Castiel and his entourage neared the doorway.

"Don't worry. He's with us," Dean assured the Ghostfacers tersely, but the quiet huff of air from Sam to his left confirmed Dean's suspicions that Castiel might not be inclined to take their side on this particular issue, "I think."

The normally deadpan angel looked ready to unleash some serious wrath on the nearest unfortunate being.

"With us, is he? Well in that case…" Ed muttered, drawing himself up as Castiel stopped directly outside the threshold, eyes flaming, "Great timing, Superman. Hey next time why don't you wait until the demons actually manage to _kill_ us all before you spring a rescue? It'd be great for dramatics…" Ed's running mouth mercifully came to a halt as Castiel placed a dismissive finger on his temple and sent him crumpling to the floor. Harry attempted to escape the same fate but backed into one of Castiel's angels and proceeded to join his compadre on the ground.

Castiel observed the unconscious pair for a moment before he glanced back up at Dean and Sam, "Would either of you care to explain all this?"

The boys exchanged awkward, tense expressions before Dean stabbed a thumb over his shoulder at Sam.

"Ask _him_."

* * *

"I can't _believe_ she took my car!" Dean fumed, pacing the living room and still focusing on the least of their worries in the current predicament.

Castiel appeared to be summoning the entire celestial reservoir of patience to prevent himself from throttling Sam, who stood, hands resting on the window sill, staring bleakly into the night that had fallen.

Lisa was sitting on the sofa, hugging her knees to her chest and watching Sam with concern. Ben sat beside his mother, eyes darting awkwardly from face to face, clearly wishing he had been allowed to remain in his room. Despite the devil's trap around the property having been hastily repaired, Dean still refused to let either Lisa or Ben out of sight until he was certain Meg wouldn't be leaping down the chimney.

"Your _car_ is the _least_ of our concerns!" Castiel informed Dean acidly, completely dispensing with any sensitivity on the subject by adding, "It is likely stranded in the nearest ditch off the freeway where the demons who followed Winters no doubt overturned it at the first opportunity."

"Oh well don't sugar coat it, Mr Omniscient." Dean snapped, noting the sharp flinch that ran through Sam at the mental picture Castiel had painted.

"No? Perhaps you would prefer that I continue to gloss over the facts as you and your brother have insisted upon doing." Castiel was clearly running low on benevolence as he circled the room and stopped directly in front of Dean, "Come sunrise this neighbourhood will be swarming with demons out to kill your wife. Nate Winters has betrayed you. Abezethibou is about to strike again and this time it will…"

The overhead lightbulb burst in a violent spark of flame, plunging the room into the soft orange glow of the street lights as Sam pushed away from the window and left the room abruptly.

Dean gave a Cas a hard glance before he followed his younger brother, leaving Lisa and Ben alone with the angel.

"Enough." Lisa released her legs and stood up, eyebrows raising as she stalked to close the distance between Castiel and herself, voice lowering to a whisper, "I think everyone appreciates the severity of the situation, but Ben is scared witless and Sam _really_ doesn't need to picture his _daughter_ lying _dead_ in the mud."

"I warned them this would happen." Castiel responded quietly, "Sam and Dean have one weakness – family. It is used against them time after time and still they refuse to learn."

"Would they still have your respect if they ever lost that?" Lisa raised her eyebrows at Castiel, and his gaze faltered at the truth in her words, "It's what makes them who they are."

* * *

Dean found Sam in the garage, under the copper-colored light of the rusted overhead bulb. Hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders stiff and face expressionless, Sam was staring at the remains of Dean's garage door – a twisted wreck of metal with a gaping hole that had clearly knocked the Impala's fenders for a loop during its unceremonious exit. Dark tire marks still blackened the cement under Dean's boots as he stood beside his brother and felt the anger melt away in the heat of Sam's obvious anguish.

"Sam…"

"I'm sorry." The words were strained and heavy with guilt. Sam was fighting off tears, and it made Dean sick to his stomach, "You warned me not to trust her. I didn't listen."

"It wasn't your fault, Sammy. She's your _kid_. I get it."

"No." Sam responded flatly as he finally lifted his eyes from the ground to meet Dean's, "That's an excuse. You know better and so did I." He scraped at the tire marks with the toe of his boot, "I guess I was just hoping that…I dunno, that Geri had just damaged her, you know? That I could fix it somehow."

Dean could've sworn Sam was all of five years old again, despairing over a broken toy.

He desperately wanted to hug him all of a sudden.

"Look – we don't know what happened. Maybe…" Dean knew he was scraping the bottom of the barrel, but he had to try, "maybe Nate knows somethin' we don't here, okay? Let's not go jumping to conclusions."

Sam gave him a dry, bitter smile, "Right, so…once we fight off the demon posse and track down what's left of your car, let's make sure to ask her what the plan was."

"Man, that's what I don't get." Dean allowed a fraction of the ire he was feeling towards Nate to surface in his voice and expression, "How the hell'd she get ahold of my keys? I swear I never let the damn things leave my pocket unless I'm twisting'em in the Impala – and I never let her get that close."

"Perhaps you should be looking a little closer to home." The gravely statement followed a brief flutter of wings, and neither Sam nor Dean jumped as Castiel appeared to stand alongside them, eyes scanning the shadows of the night as he continued, "Winters is certainly cunning in her own right, but this particular act was born of desperation above all else. We must assume that she was not alone in plotting this endeavour."

Dean shot the angel a nasty grimace, "'This endeavour' my ass. She stole my freakin' car!"

"Not alone, she didn't." Castiel informed Dean coolly as he cast the oldest Winchester a sidelong glance, "Though that is hardly the issue in question. I suggest all four of you remove yourselves to the safety of the Panic Room as soon as possible. In fact I'll transport you myself to ensure your safe arrival."

"Whoa, whoa, Cas, I mean, we can't just _hide_." Dean seemed insulted at the very insinuation.

"You know, I've been patient, _Dean_." Castiel turned to close the space between him and the hunter, head titled and eyes narrowed as he spoke, "I have fallen behind in my duties to Heaven in order to assist you both against my better judgement…"

"Yeah, and we appreciate it, but…"

"But enough is enough." Castiel finished matter-of-factly, not sparing Dean or Sam's temperaments whatsoever as he took on both their stares, "You won't need to hide for long. Meg will pull back her forces once she realizes that Winters is the real threat in this equation. Already half of her demons are in pursuit."

"So what, we just hole up and do nothing while Meg strings Nate up on her rack?" Sam seemed to be regaining some control of his senses as he eyed Cas in outrage.

"Nate Winters betrayed us all!" Castiel responded in like tone, "You are allowing the simple fact that she is your child to cloud your judgement! I stood by and watched Ruby lead you into freeing Lucifer from Hell." Castiel spoke the words in a low, determined tone as his eyes squinted sharply up at Sam, "I refuse to stand and watch Nate Winters lead you to your death."

The words hung, loud and lingering, in the air – heavy and non-retractable…although, judging by the determination in Castiel's eyes the angel seemed unwilling to do so.

Sam nodded despite himself, lips pressed tightly together and curling into an ironic, dangerous grin before he unleashed a massive fist, sending it smashing across Castiel's jaw and snapping it to the side. Most grown men would have flown a good meter from the impact, but Castiel didn't budge. In fact, Sam winced and cradled his right fist as it rapidly began to swell.

Fucking angels.

Castiel appeared unruffled, although slightly more contrite, "I'm sorry to have upset you, Sam. Of course Nate is still your daughter, and we must do everything we can to regain custody of her before Meg strikes."

"Don't bother." Sam's voice was acidic as he glared down at the archangel, "I'll find her myself." His shoulder brushed heavily against Castiel's as he shoved past and exited the garage without another word.

Dean rolled his eyes and closed them briefly, "I fucking hate Christmas."

Castiel frowned and looked poised to condemn the blasphemous remark.

"Seriously, Cas – Sam is on a tight leash, alright? I'm barely holdin' it together here. How about we leave Ruby outta this for now?"

"I am not the one attempting to resurrect her. Need I remind you Abezethibou is walking free because Nate Winters has been systematically unlocking every door to the deepest pits in Hell?"

"It makes no sense," Dean complained, "I mean, what's Ruby got that Nate wants so badly anyhow?"

"Answers, Dean." Castiel gazed poignantly at the empty street, "Answers I suggest that you and Sam provide in all haste if you do not want Nate Winters digging up every archdemon bound beneath this earth."


	16. Chapter 16

**_Sorry for the delay! Been sitting on this for a few months now, but with two jobs and a baby on the way (yep Tyler is a mom-to-be :P) its been hectic. Enjoy and leave some love._**

**_- Tyler_**

* * *

Ben thumbed at the buttons on his cell phone, absently locking and unlocking the keypad as he tried to drown out his surroundings. He could hear Dean thanking Bobby Singer for allowing Lisa and Ben to stay at his place for the next few days, could hear Bobby replying that Dean was an 'idjit' and that it would be nice to have some company over the holidays.

The holidays that Ben was meant to be spending with both of his parents instead of just his mom. The happy, blissful chain of days leading up to New Year's that consisted of perpetual food comas and Christmas TV movies and trying to find creative ways to eat leftover turkey.

At least he and Lisa weren't going to have to spend every waking minute in the Panic Room. Bobby's house was a fortress and it seemed Castiel had also promised additional angelic vigilantes to check in on these when they could be spared.

Ben felt the stiffness in his neck from where Castiel had zapped him. His skin still tingled and something felt wrong somehow, as though he had been ripped apart and put back together and the pieces weren't fitting like they used to. He remember Dean complaining about celestial transportation, and Sam once taking the time to explain to Ben that it was, in fact, a disassembling and reassembling of atoms and molecules as Ben had hypothesized.

Sam had ruffled his hair and beamed a smile and called him 'smart'.

Sam didn't know that it was Ben's fault his daughter was likely getting flayed by Meg that very moment.

Frustrated, Ben tossed his phone into the giant pocket of his hoodie and turned away from the men standing in the living room. He got up off the sofa and headed to the tiny guest bathroom, only to bump smack into Castiel.

"Whoa." Ben caught his breath, wishing the blue eyes that watched him intently weren't quite so penetrating, and feeling emotionally naked all of a sudden as he backed a few feet away from Castiel, "Sorry."

The angel said nothing, merely continued to stare, and Ben suddenly decided that his bathroom break could wait.

"I was just…nevermind." Ben swallowed and turned to head back into the living room.

"I know what you did."

Ben froze, heart pounding, as Castiel remained in place and continued to speak.

"_You_, on the other hand, do not even begin to understand it." His hands tucked in calm fistfuls and dug at the bottom of his trenchcoat's pockets as he eyed Ben sharply, "What did she promise you, Ben?"

"Nothing! Look, I don't know what you're talking about." Ben tried to sound frustrated and the effort made a promising argument. He was sick and tired of being lectured for covering up when it was all everyone around him seemed to be doing nowadays.

"First you steal from a Winchester and now you're lying to an angel. Be careful, Ben."

"No, _you_ be careful." Ben snapped in a whisper as the rumbling voices in the living room grew closer, "You think being an angel means you can threaten me? Dean'll slit your throat with that silver knife you're so afraid of if you lay one holy little finger on me!"

The slap took Ben by surprise. It was open-handed and, while not hard enough to bruise, it stung across his left cheek. He looked up at Castiel, eyes wide in disbelief, mouth open to utter a cry for help.

"One word of this to Dean and I will tell him how those car keys came to be in Nate Winter's possession." Castiel informed him calmly, and Ben's eyes smouldered as he pressed a palm against his cheek and glared at the angel, knowing Cas had won this round.

"Remember I am watching."

Cas disappeared suddenly, rattling Ben's nerves further and setting his teeth on edge.

"Ben?" Lisa's voice calling was soon followed by her presence as she rounded the corner into the hallway, "Hey," She smiled as he turned to face her – and the smile left her face instantly as she took in the young boy's expression, "What's wrong?"

Ben swallowed back the burning words on the tip of his tongue, "Nothing. Is there any food?"

"Bobby's making some sandwiches." Lisa frowned and stepped closer to her son, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I just said I was." Ben forced a sullen shrug as he brushed by his mother, and Lisa's frown deepened as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and glanced at shadowed hallway once more before following her son.

* * *

Meg Masters' pale face was tight with barely-controlled anger as she paced the room, back turned to the bald-headed demon standing hesitantly in the doorway.

"So let me get this straight." Meg paused in her tracks but didn't turn around, nostrils flaring as she levelled her speech at the floor in front of her, "I send twelve demons, _twelve_, after Winters and four hours later I have no Winters and I have no demons." Finally Meg turned, and as she did so she proceeded to yell, "How the _hell_ did you manage to screw up so fantastically?"

"Winters led us on a wild hog chase and smashed the car right through the front doors of a chapel where a group of angels just _happened_ to be meeting!" The demon snapped, his nose still spitting blood and his smoothly-shaved head mottled from a deep gash, "There were seven of them. They slaughtered us – we didn't stand a chance!"

"Oh and Winters _did_?" Meg invaded his personal space, her narrow chin tilting upwards angrily, "The angels want her just as much as we do. _How_ did she make it out of there alive?"

"One little girl in the middle of a fight between angels and demons? How do you _think_ she made it out of there?" The demon justified himself, "Those angels didn't even give her the time of _day_ - they were too busy sending _us_ to Hell!"

"I should send you there myself!" Meg snarled, "Where is Crowley, damn it?"

"No need to yell, love." The patronizing remark came from where Meg had previously been standing, and she turned with a clenched jaw as the crossroads demon raised his eyebrows, "What? Still letting little Natey get on the drop on us, are we? Don't take it out on me, darling – I did warn you she was slippery."

"One of us has gotta get their hands dirty, Crowley." Meg glanced up at the battered demon still standing in attendance, "Beat it."

He complied.

"Before you go off the rails," Crowley held up his hands as Meg started forward with deadly intent, "I'll have you know that everything went perfectly according to plan."

"_Who__'__s_ plan?" Meg sneered.

"_My_ plan." Crowley pointed a finger, "Nate's off the Winchester grid, though they'll be looking for her if I know those knuckleheads…and I do. You've got an estimated three days before Sam and Dean drag Winters out of whatever hole she's hiding in, hex bags or no."

"And what do you propose I _do_ with that little window of time, Crowley?" Meg folded her arms, "I've got a stock of useless Croatoan and deadline, so if you're holding out on Nate's location, _don__'__t_." The threat was left unfinished.

Crowley smiled, "There's a demon named Sabra who deals in all kinds of…questionable concoctions. She's been wreaking havoc on the earth since the dawn of time. She's got a penthouse in Las Vegas." He handed Meg a slip of paper, which she raised an eyebrow at scornfully, "She's got what you need. You let me worry about Winters."

Meg eyed the address in her hand and then returned her gaze to Crowley, "What about Oplexicon?"

"Him too, though I highly doubt he's come here to stamp out future competition." The king of the crossroads tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket, "All one needs do is find out the root of his deal with Winters which can then be promptly used against the pair of them. Good business, is all."

"And if I don't trust you?" Meg demanded.

"You can keep throwing demons at Nate and hope one of them manages to get past that wall of tricks she's got up her sleeve." Crowley shrugged indifferently, "You might find yourself coming up short, though. But good luck."

Meg was silent for a long moment before she replied, "Fine. But when you find her, Crowley," She approached him, a coy smile tugging at her dainty lips, "You bring her to _me_ – untainted."

"Not possible, sweetheart." Crowley remained uruffled as Meg inched saucily closer, "That girl's about as spotless as her father."

"I want her on my rack, Crowley." Meg raised an eyebrow and let her mouth hang open as she eyed the demon up and down and whispered in his ear, "I want to take my own…sweet…time. You get me?"

"Oh I get you." Crowley finally stepped backwards and Meg grinned triumphantly, "Just hope that Castiel decides she's not worth protecting – or this could end with _you_ on _Natey__'__s_ rack instead."

Meg's smile vanished along with Crowley.

* * *

_Austin, Texas_

_Three__ weeks__ later__…_

A veteran barmaid clad in a tight plaid shirt knotted underneath her breasts and a frayed leather miniskirt balanced a tray of beers on her palm and played with the curled ends of her hair as she sauntered towards the lone man sitting at the corner table.

"Two buds?" She purred, and he glanced up briefly from the stack of papers he had been keenly perusing to flash her a tired glance.

"Yeah, thanks." He muttered the words, his eyes returning to the papers even as the barmaid bent down to place the tray on the table and expose her ample breasts.

She smirked, "You alone tonight?"

"Huh?" The well-built man glanced up again, and as she raised her eyebrows he cleared his throat, "Uh no, actually I'm here with my brother." He nodded at another man who was approaching the table as they spoke.

Her face deflated as she took in the 'brother's' amazing features before she sighed and raised her hands, "Sorry for asking."

"What?" The man only seemed confused by her response, and the barmaid rolled her eyes in irritation as she marched back to the counter, stopping to glare at the sandy-haired 'brother' as she passed him by.

Dean frowned and thumbed at her over shoulder as he reached Sam, "What's _her_ problem?"

"I dunno. That time of the month?" Sam was, as usual, thickly immersed in his research and completely oblivious to what had just occurred, "Find anything?"

"Man, this is friggin' Hicksville." Dean complained as he took his seat and flipped the top off his beer, "I swear Bo and Luke are gonna come tearin' in that door any second with Daisy Duke on their tails."

"We're in Austin, Dean." Sam reminded him coolly as he paused to open his own beer, "What were you expecting? This is a _rodeo_ joint, for Christ's sake."

"Tell me about it." Dean suddenly seemed to forget his woes as a pair of scantily clad cowgirl wannabes sauntered by the table. He turned back to Sam with a raise of his eyebrows , "Then again…it could be worse."

Sam stopped his research completely and rested both elbows on the table to lean into his brother, and it was only then that Dean noticed how completely exhausted Sam was looking nowadays – not to mention unkempt. Seriously, stubble? When had Sam _ever_ sported _stubble_?

"We've been tracking down this Skandar guy for three weeks, Dean. We got nothin'. There've been two more killings in the past ten days and we're no closer to finding Abezethibou than we are to finding Nate." Sam pulled a heavy bitch-face, "So please, enlighten me. How could it _possibly_ be any worse?"

Dean gave his brother a hard look, "When was the last time you got any sleep?"

Sam rolled his eyes and pushed off from the table to lean back in his seat, "Great. Now you're playing Mother Hen? It just got worse."

"I mean it, Sammy. You look like crap."

"I'm _fine_."

"Um, are you the guys lookin' for Skandar?" A wiry woman in her forties with leathery skin and arms full of tattoos had approached their table unnoticed.

Dean eyed her suspiciously, "You know him?"

The woman huffed with an eye-roll, "Who don't?"

Sam leaned forward determinedly, "You got an address?"

"Do I look like a rat to you?" The woman snapped in his direction, "What d'you want him for?"

"We just need to talk to him about a mutual friend." Dean replied matter-of-factly, and the woman blinked.

"What friend?"

"Tabitha Cohen."

She immediately seemed to soften and bent down to speak to Dean in a hushed tone, "She okay?"

"You knew her?" Sam was not to be ignored, and though he had evidently offended the woman on some level or another, she glanced briefly in his direction.

"Knew? Did somethin' happen?"

"Yeah 'somethin' happened'. She's _dead_." Sam informed her bluntly, and Dean flashed his brother a non-verbal request for patience.

"Dead?" The woman seemed genuinely upset at the notion, "When?"

"Christmas Eve. Look, it's really important that we talk to Skandar. Can you help us out?" Dean watched carefully as the woman deliberated, gazing over her shoulder and fidgeting with a glitzy rhinestone on her left index finger.

Finally she pursed her lips and leant over Sam, snatching a napkin from the stained silver holder and pulling a pen from the pocket of her jeans.

"Can't say as he'll be there, but it's worth a shot." She jotted down an address and handed it to Dean, "He usually bedhops, but he's got a ranch just five miles from here. Y'all can give it a try."

"Thanks." Dean tucked the paper away and nodded at the woman. She stalked away without another word.

Dean turned to his brother, watching as Sam hastily shoved his wad of papers into the bag on the seat beside him.

"Dean, let's go."

"We'll go when you sleep." Dean replied casually, settling deeper into his chair and taking a pointed gulp of his beer. He didn't need to look up to picture Sam's seething outrage.

"Are you kidding me? This guy could be our demon!"

"Exactly, and I need you sharp." Dean stated, making eye contact at last in what was always the beginning of a stare-down with his younger brother, "If Skandar turns out to be Abezethibou's meatsuit, taking him on's gonna be a bitch."

Sam was fuming. Dean could tell from the way his jaw was twitching that the hunter was ready to explode.

"One night, Sammy. That's all I'm asking."

The tension was toxic, but Dean knew he had right on his side, and though Sam was on a tight string, he wasn't the same Sam that would have thrown all caution to the wind on some ridiculous suicide run that Dean knew five years ago.

"Fine." Sam ground out, clearly less than pleased but conceding defeat.

Dean nodded, "Hey sweetheart," He called to the plaid-clad waitress who stood a ways off, "Can we get another round?"

She rolled her eyes and headed off with an icy glare.

Dean cast bewildered eyes at Sam, "Guess I'm losing my touch."

* * *

The alarm clock on the dresser between Sam and Dean's single beds glowed 5:00 AM, and Sam watched it count down seconds like water dripping from a faucet as he tossed uncomfortably, unable to sleep.

Dean, as usual, was out like a light. The man slept like a log – always had, much to Sam's envy, though it often served to his advantage in the long run…

The memories of Ruby always came at night. Like her, they preferred the cover of darkness. Sam fought them as vigorously as he wished he had fought Ruby all those months. Again, like her, they persisted.

"_It__ had__ to __be__ you,__ Sammy.__" __Her __eyes__ had__ shone__ with__ both__ pride __and__ pity__ as __her__ hands__ cupped__ his__ face,__ "__It__ always __had __to__ be__ you.__"_

Sam threw the nearest pillow at the wall and sat up in bed, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He glanced over at Dean, watching his brother's unhindered slumber.

Sam often wondered what Dean dreamed about. Hell? Heaven? Happier times? Lisa told him that Dean suffered from nightmares almost constantly.

Sam swallowed, a wave of guilt washing over him as he lay back down and attempted to stay put. He forced his eyes to close and rested his wrist against his forehead.

"_Last I checked I was safer hunting down Ruby's long, lost soul."_

That was it.

Sam threw back the covers and reached for his jeans.

He was still feeling a spike of guilt after he had dressed, pulled on his boots and packed a small duffel full of ammo. Sam checked Dean was still asleep even as he reached into the pocket of his brother's worn leather jacket and tucked the folded napkin into his own coat.

_Sorry,__ Dean_.

The motel door closed softly.

* * *

The sun was rising over the ridge poles of the broken-down house as Sam pulled up outside Skandar Wilson's ranch. The property was overgrown and run down, with stray chickens, cats, dogs and even a few pigs on the loose, squeaking and mewling and oinking to create a horrible cacophony.

Sam slammed the door of his Ford, tucking his handgun into the back of his jeans and his flask of holy water into his jacket. He took in the sight of a stocky red pick-up parked in the dying grass amongst a pile of rotting wood overwrought with weeds. Apparently Skandar wasn't much of a ranch hand.

The porch was covered in dust and stacks of newspapers, plastic bags of garbage and crates full of empty bottles. Sam heard a scuffling noise and barely had time to draw his gun when a rooster jumped out at him from behind a gunnysack, squawking indignantly as it flapped its flightless wings and sped off into the cover of the weeds.

Sam sighed and replaced his gun, tugging his jacket over it and squaring his shoulders as he stood outside the front door. He could smell something cooking – bacon, he figured, though the rank stench hovering in the air from the garbage was clouding his sense of smell.

Sam lifted a fist and rapped at the door, stepping back and glancing over his shoulder while squinting at the decadent surroundings bathed in the early morning sun.

There was no response. Sam tried again, this time following up the knock with a call.

"Hello?"

He twisted the handle, and it turned. The door was old and creaky, but it opened as Sam pushed. He felt the weight of his trusty .44 against his back as he stepped inside the ranch house.

It was a disaster zone. The front room was strewn with beat-up faded furniture covered in dust and clutter. The TV was blaring and the coffee table was a mess of empty bottles, beer cans and dishes. The sofa was blood-stained and empty.

Sam drew his gun, feet marking the floorboards as silently as was possible considering they all creaked and some of them were broken.

The sound of sizzling and the scent of fried food wafted from the kitchen, and Sam headed cautiously in that direction, glancing every which way as he did so, gun lowered but engaged.

As Sam rounded the corner and the kitchen came into sight, nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

There was a cast-iron frying pan on the stove full of strips of fatty bacon that spat oil in every direction. And presiding over said pan was a thin young woman in a stained gray tank top and a black pair of hot pants.

Sam stood, floored for a moment as the girl, back turned and oblivious, chopped something on the countertop. The part of her legs and arms visible to Sam were mottled with ugly green and purple bruises that came in all shapes and sizes. Her dark brown hair fell in thick, dirty waves down her back.

She grabbed up a half-empty bottle of red label from the counter beside her and took a swig before she finally decided to turn around.

"Jesus Christ!" Nate screamed, leaping backwards and wielding the knife she'd been using moments earlier. Her eyes were wider than a deer's in headlights, "Sam, what the hell are you doing here?"

"What the hell am _I_ doing here?" Sam was too angry to care if Skandar heard the yelling. It would save him having to hunt the bastard down. He reached out to grab Nate's arm, "Come on."

She tore away and extended the knife, "You stay the fuck away from me!" Her hair fell away from her face as she moved away, and it was then Sam caught sight of her split eyebrow crusted with dark blood and surrounded by a yellow tinge of bruising.

His jaw grit with fury and he reacted in kind, wrestling the knife away from Nate without much difficultly, though she struggled for all she was worth.

"Sam, let me go!"

"Is he here?" Sam demanded as he shook Nate by her shoulders, "_Where_ is he?"

"Where is _who_?" Nate yelled, her eyes hard as stone and circled with smudged black liner.

Sam threw the knife at it sailed past Nate's ear, piercing the drywall and rocking back and forth from the impact. He ceased her stunned silence to take hold of her arms again and give her a menacing look.

Nate's chest heaved with the exertion of their struggle, and her lips pressed tightly together as she glared up at Sam with the same black anger as his own.

"Skandar Wilson, you mean?" Nate's teeth were grit as she smiled in Sam's face, "He's dead."

Sam narrowed his eyebrows in momentary disbelief as his daughter continued.

"I killed him myself."

Total, utter confusion at Nate's statement had engulfed Sam Winchester for a brief moment, stunning him into silence and allowing her to shove his hands off of her shoulders as she stood across from him.

It wasn't long before reality kicked in, however, and Sam's head tilted dangerously in Nate's direction.

"Why would you kill him?"

_How__ would__ you __kill__ him?_ The words' unspoken message rode in on an undercurrent.

"He's an Incubus, Sam - same son of a bitch who ganks my mom. _I_ just got the drop on him!" Nate was a mess from head to toe, and it was evident that whatever skirmish had gone down, it had been far from pretty.

"An _Incubus_?" Sam demanded, and Nate shrugged mordantly.

"Makes sense, doesn't it? Geri being Geri, it _figures_ it would take a demon to get her off!" She watched Sam's anger thicken as she finished, "Seems you two have a lot more in common than I thought."

Sam's hand gripped Nate's face tightly in a flash as he hauled her into proximity once more, bringing the considerably shorter girl up onto her tiptoes as he did so, "_Where_ is he?"

"Salted and burned him a day ago." Nate hissed between clenched teeth as her hands clamped tightly around Sam's wrists in an effort to free herself from his vice-like grip, "Figured I would hole up here until I started looking a less multi-coloured."

Sam released her at those words, the dark rage momentarily subsiding to controllable levels as he took stock of Nate's injuries. They were extensive but apparently not life-threatening. Sam wasn't fooled.

"Did he rape you?"

"_No_, Sam, he didn't rape me. What the hell do _you_ care?" She stormed over to the stove, twisting the knob to kill the gas before grabbing up her boots that had been shoved against the ratty back door.

"What do _I_ care? You put Lisa's life in danger so you could go off on some suicide bid! Which part of that is _not_ supposed to piss me off?" Sam spread his arms in a giant span of incredulity, and Nate Winters rolling her panda eyes as she pulled on her boots did little to diffuse the situation.

"I dunno, Sam – maybe the part where I drew half of Meg's fire off your back?" The girl spread her own thin, battered arms and she dug her heel into one boot before bending down to yank on the other one.

"Yeah, Meg never would've attacked us to _begin_ with if you hadn't screwed her over with a _fake_!"

"_Crowley_ has the real book already. What was I _supposed_ to do – let Lisa die?"

The yelling that had risen to uncomfortable levels fell abruptly into silence as a stalemate appeared to have been reached. Sam and Nate were still glaring viciously at each other, though both looked exhausted enough to burst into tears or smash a fist through the nearest patch of dry wall.

Finally Sam spoke, "Where've you been?"

"Tracking down Skandar, same as you." Nate picked up the bottle and took a shaky swig before wiping her mouth and nodding at her father, "He was closing in on Geri when I caught up to him. Managed to chase his ass back down here and once I had him bottle-necked, it was a no-brainer."

"Yeah? Somehow I find that a little hard to believe." Sam's spidey-sense was tingling, and he knew for a fact that Nate was being far from honest. The truth had never been her strong point – or his own for that matter.

"What, that I took out an Incubus?" Nate tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, a wry smile on her split lips as she picked up her ratty gunnysack, "Don't look so surprised. I got bit by the 'family' bug just like you did, Sam. We do crazy shit for the people we love," Here she took in Sam's caustic expression and shrugged, "Or, you know, whatever."

"How'd you do it?"

"How'd I do what?"

"Take out Skandar, how'd you do it?" Sam knew the lore on Incubi like the back of his hand. Nate had already slipped up by declaring she had salted and burned the damn thing. Incubi were spirits who possessed humans and showed no vulnerability to exorcism.

Nate eyed him incredulously as though that fact was privy to her alone, "Fought fire with fire and dazzled him with my charms."

"That's real cute." Sam snapped before he snatched up the knife from the drywall, "Get dressed. We're hitting the road."

"I _am_ dressed." She frowned, confused, and Sam rolled his eyes, pulling off his beige jacket and tossing it at his daughter with a raise of his eyebrows.

"Move it."


	17. Chapter 17

_**Next installment. Got a couple more of these pages leftover - still pushing out new stuff but time is short these days. Enjoy!**_

_**- Tyler  
**_

* * *

Dean grit his teeth in frustration as Sam's mobile went to voice mail for what seemed like the hundredth time in two hours.

_It's Sam. Leave a message. _

_I__'__ve__ left__ seven,__ you __prick_. Dean hung up and turned his attention to the half-open blinds of the motel window as the rumble of a car sounded in the distance. Sure enough, Sam's Ford was pulling into the parking lot.

"Thank God." Dean muttered, worry quickly being replaced by anger as he became assured that his little brother was not, in fact, lying in some demon's basement. Anger became total confusion, however, as Dean caught sight of the passenger Sam was half helping half dragging out of the car and towards their motel room.

Dean opened the door before Sam could lift a fist, "Where the hell have you been? I've been calling for over an hour!"

"Skandar's ranch." Sam replied flatly as he gave Nate a push over the threshold, "Get inside."

Dean shut the door behind the pair, "'The hell's _she_ doin' here?" He glowered at Nate, and she rolled her eyes.

"Ask Gigantor. I was about to stuff my face with a fat plate of cholesterol." She banged Sam's shoulder with her own as she tossed down her duffel bag and headed for the bathroom.

Dean raised his eyebrows as the door slammed and the shower began to run.

"Seriously, man, what the hell?"

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I couldn't sleep so I just stopped by to check out the location and see if it was any good." Sam placated his brother, "I had no idea Nate would be there."

"Unless Nate's our demon." Dean knew it was only a moment of wishful thinking.

Sam gave him a humourless expression in response, and he shrugged, "Just sayin'. What was she doin' there anyway?"

"Getting the jump on Skandar, or so she says." Sam sank onto the bed and scraped his hands across his face with a heavy sigh, "Apparently, the guy's an Inbubus, and was closing in on Geri when Nate tracked him down."

"Geri?" Dean raised his eyebrows, "As in crackwhore mother of your child Geri?"

Sam flashed him a glare, "Thanks for that."

"Seriously, an Incubus?" The older Winchester sat across from his brother and rested his elbows on his knees, "Man, the last time I hunted one o' those bad boys, it got real hairy. If I remember correctly, Dad and Bobby were in down in the basement for almost a _week_ tryin' to exorcise the damn thing."

"They're almost impossible to take out." Sam agreed wearily, "Nate told me she salted and burned him."

"I swear that kid is almost as stupid as she is twiggy." Dean grumbled as he cast a glance at the bathroom, "You can't salt and burn a freakin' Incubus. All it does is piss'em off."

Sam shook his head, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he stood up from the bed, "Yeah well, from the looks of her, I'd say _Nate__'__s_ the one who took a beating. Skandar's out there somewhere, and wherever he is, she's covering for him."

"Are you kidding?" Dean frowned at his kid brother, "This demon tried to gank her mom. Why the hell would Nate _protect_ him?"

"Why the hell does Nate do _anything_, Dean?" Sam lowered his voice but the tone was still sharp as the water shut off in the bathroom, "I found her half-naked standing over a frying pan for Christ's sake! Whatever Skandar did to her, I'd say it's pretty damn obvious she isn't gonna stop until she takes him out herself."

"Which would explain why she would lie to us." Dean nodded to himself, "She knows we're on the hunt."

Sam sighed in frustration but made no response as the bathroom door clicked open and Nate stepped out, her bruises somewhat concealed by a grey cotton sweater and a pair of dark bootcut jeans. She threw Dean a glance.

"Hey, Dean…sorry about your car."

"Sorry?" Dean rose to his feet with an arch of his eyebrows "You're gonna be a little more than sorry when I'm through with you, sweetheart. What the hell did you do with it?"

"I kinda had a run-in with some demons." Nate shrugged in what almost seemed to be sincere apology as she perched a loose boot on the nearest chair and yanked up the zipper, "Had to ditch it back in Denver. Don't worry," She assured Dean with a caustic raise of her eyebrow as he gritted his teeth, "Your baby's in better shape than I am."

"I'll bet. Speakin' of which, you uh have a little _run-in_ with _Skandar_ as well?" Dean waved a finger at her many bruises, and she rolled her eyes as she closed up her other boot and slung her gunnysack over her shoulder, "Looks like things got kinda messy."

"You should see the other guy." Nate smiled with an acid squint of her eyes, "It's been real fun. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm late for my daily dose of Meg." She had barely taken a step towards the door when Sam was in her face – and her way.

"You're not going anywhere. Not till you start talking – and believe me," He lowered his voice menacingly, "We've got all day."

To both of the brother's surprise, the girl sighed and tossed down her rucksack before spreading her arms, "What do you wanna know?"

"How about you start with what the hell it is you're really doing here?" Dean rested his back against the motel wall and folded his arms.

"I _told_ you." Nate seemed genuinely offended that her veracity was being called into question, "I'm here for _Meg_."

"Sure you are." Dean nodded, "That's why you're in _Texas_ and Meg's in _Montana_."

"So I made a pit stop and saved my mom from being ganked and myself from shitty welfare homes." The young girl spread her arms, "Sue me."

"Oh I'm gonna." Dean responded flatly as he took a seat across from her with a knowing scowl, "Do you have any idea what kinda danger you put Lisa and Ben in when you slipped Meg a fake book? What the hell were you thinking?"

"Crowley already had the real book and if he was gonna hand it over to Meg, he would've done it. I was just trying to _help_." Nate protested her innocence, and Dean scoffed.

"You know how many brown-haired bitches've told us they wanna help while trying to stick a knife in our backs?"

"Dean." Sam warned heavily, but the topic had already been unwittingly brought to the fore and Nate Winters was already rising to the occasion as she leant forward and smiled at her uncle.

"Actually, I'm a little hazy on the details. You wanna fill me in?"

"How about a trade?" Dean replied evenly, "Scoop for scoop. What's Meg's next move?"

"Dean." Sam intoned again, his frustration rising to dangerous levels.

Dean, as usual, ignored him.

Nate, for her part, appeared impressed by the fairness of the older Winchester's terms as she perched a boot on the edge of the bed and hugged one knee into her chest.

"Meg was in cahoots with some high-ranking demon bitch from Las Vegas. I'm guessing once she drops the hunt for me, she's gonna be heading out there next."

Dean nodded at Sam for acknowledgement, and his brother remained stone-faced.

"Got an address?"

"I dunno." Nate cocked her head at her father in mordant response, "Got an itinerary of Ruby's grand exit? I need the exact time and date of when you ganked her."

"You little…"

"Whoa, whoa, Sammy!" Dean's full-on body slam barely managed to restraint his brother as Sam unexpectedly charged. With a heavy shove, Dean caught eye contact with Sam and raised a hand.

"Take it easy."

"She almost got us all killed!" Sam protested, enraged, and Dean nodded cautiously as Nate let out a snort of disbelief.

"That's not what's pissing you off here and you know it, man, now take a breath. Sammy," Dean repeated his brother's name, raising his eyebrows, "Take a breath."

Nate's voice wafted from behind, "He's right, Sam. One of us should walk it off. Hey how about I take one for the team?"

"Only place you're going is the boot of my car, you _selfish_, _spoiled_ little _brat_!" Sam yelled last few words as Nate made yet another attempt at beating the scene.

"Spoiled?" She started back as if punched before lifting a finger, "I'm sorry – what?"

"That's right." Sam stated, his tone and features a blend of sardonism and cold anger as his eyes squinted upwards along with the corners of his mouth, "You pitch this whole martyr deal, but the truth is you're too busy hoarding what you can get from other people to confront the real problem."

Nate snorted incredulously, "Which is Geri?"

"Which is _you_." Sam's response cut like a knife, "You stopped caring about anyone but yourself years ago, and you've managed to hurt as many people in the space of four months as I did in a _year_ back when Ruby was around!"

"You are so full shit it's just incredible…"

"What's _incredible_," He was nowhere near finished apparently, and the contempt in his face and tone stung almost as deeply as his words, "is that I let you get _away_ with it so long. Dean was right – trying to befriend you was a total waste of time.

"You got that right!" Nate snarled, dropping any pretence of cordiality as she walked towards Sam, conscious of Dean's presence between the two but intending to override it if need be, "In case you need reminding, you left me alone with Geri for _twelve_ years. That's twelve years of cleaning up her puke and driving her to the ER and lying to social services and settling her drug debts with a blow job!"

"I. Didn't. _Know_!" Sam yelled each every word with the clear enunciation of his complete frustration.

"Right, it's not your fault." Nate flicked her fingers, "I forgot - you were too busy triggering the _Apocalypse_!"

"Oh for crying out loud!" Crowley's voice was the last voice expected to enter the melee, "Still at it, I see? Right where I left you."

Nate smiled at the crossroads demon as Sam and Dean diverted their attention in turn, "Hi, Crowley. Question – who tipped Meg off that the book I gave her was a dud?"

He raised his eyebrows nonchalantly, "I've no idea, love. Hey." He lifted his hands as Sam and Dean advanced steadily, "Honest. Meg's not as stupid as you make her out to be."

"Neither are we." Sam snarled, "We know you took the original from Nate when you had that little chat down in your basement. That book is way too detailed to tell a counterfeit from the real thing unless you compare the two."

"Is that what this is now?" Crowley queried dismally, "The Inquisition? If I wanted to play Whodunit, I could've stuck with my own kind."

"Maybe you _should__'__ve_." Dean replied matter-of-factly, "Cuz the funny thing with _humans_ is we don't exactly appreciate being lied to - especially when it almost gets us _killed_."

Nate Winters was watching the exchange - in silence, for once.

"Fine. But while we're all stood around for another go at the Blame Game," Crowley raised his eyebrows, "Abezethibou's gone off the grid. Any ideas, lads? No?" He scoffed at the un-amused glances exchanged by the brothers, "I thought not. Maybe it's because he's dead?" The demon pulled a facial shrug, "Just a consideration."

"How'd you know about Water Boy?" Dean cocked his head and cast an eye in Nate's direction for a moment. She returned the suggestion with an eye-roll of her own.

"Easy, Dean. Little Natey here hasn't made a peep – not to me, at any rate." Crowley eyed a suspicious-looking smudge on the wallpaper, "As it happens, our Nazi-loving archdemon's been wiped out. Had a little run-in with Oplexicon." He turned to glance sidelong at Nate, "I'm assuming you had nothing to do with that."

"I…may have mentioned something in casual conversation." She excused herself as Dean raised his eyebrows and Sam tightened his mouth in her direction, "Look, Oplexicon gets real touchy about the idea of future competition. I just exploited that sensitivity. Turns out Zethi's not so tough when you sic another archdemon on his ass." Nate huffed as the stony looks remained in place, "Enough with the faces, okay? I bet on the right horse – what's there to _possibly_ get pissed at me for _this_time?"

"Nobody?" Crowley looked at the Winchester brothers, then proceeded to point a finger skyward after watching Sam and Dean exchange yet another cryptic glance, "Alright. I've got one. How about shedding some light on what you're doing all the way down here when Meg, the apparent target of your teenage angst, is brewing all manner of evil in her cauldrons up North as we speak?"

"It's none of your business." Nate responded in a sharp, quiet tone, and Crowley drew back in mock-surprise, turning to Sam and Dean who flashed him guarded, uncomfortable expressions and remained silent.

"Oh well _this_ won't do." The crossroads demon stated, and Nate folded her arms and glared repellently as he continued while pacing the dingy motel room, "It's beginning to feel all take and no give on your side, boys." He paused in front of Dean, ignoring the contempt tugging at the edges of the man's mouth, "Not sure I deserve a relationship like that. I'm looking for commitment these days."

"Yeah? I hear Meg's bed's real cosy."

"Dean, Dean, Dean." Crowley shook his head and took a few steps back, "How many times do we have to address the jealousy issue? Meg's a means to an end. Don't worry," He grinned as Dean full-on glared and balled his hands into fists, "I didn't let her kiss me."

"You know what?" Nate stormed over to the open duffel bag on Sam's bed, "That's it." Before anybody had quite figured out her latest angle, the girl had drawn the Colt and was aiming it directly at Crowley.

"Nate, what're you doing?" Sam queried in a low tone.

"I've heard enough!" She snapped, clicking off the safety as Crowley raised his palms with a weary eye-roll, "You sold me out to Meg, you son of a bitch."

"What - me?"

"You nearly got us all killed." Nate's teeth were grit and she placed both hands on the Colt as she took a few steps forward, "No one else could've tipped Meg off to the fake! You were the only one with the original, now _where_ the hell is it?"

"Sam, your little _monster__'__s_ about to blow my head off. I _suggest_ you rein her in!" Crowley made a sudden dispensation of pleasantries, his face turning an unbecoming shade of red as he raised his voice in Sam's direction.

"Why? She's got a point." Sam's giant arms folded across the chest of his plaid shirt as he leant against the doorpost and watched the encounter with a sort of dry amusement.

"Because," The demon snarled, "If you don't, I'll _gut_ the little bitch, and send you her entrails in a Fed-Ex box. How's _that_ for terms?"

"I'd say pretty damn bold considering you're the one with a gun to your head." Sam smiled, but it was more of a sneer of triumph, "Why _did_ you give Meg the book, Crowley? Doesn't exactly fit in with your whole 'I want her taken out' spiel – or was that just another bogus sales pitch?"

"It's the truth, alright?" Crowley was beginning to heat up under his Prada collar (long overdue, in Dean's opinion), "I just needed an in. Call it a…show of good will or what have you!"

"Yeah well your 'show of good will'," Dean closed the space between him and the crossroads demon, anger plainly etched across his features, "is the reason Ben and Lisa are spendin' the holidays locked up in Bobby's Panic Room, so you give us _one_ good reason why we shouldn't gank you for it, you backstabbing son of a bitch."

"Alright, so you're feeling a little ruffled." Crowley appeared to have decided (wisely) that cooling the situation down was better than fuelling the fires of a trio who were pretty much unanimously in favour of killing him, "Understandable. But perhaps we can make this all go away with a simple exchange."

"Are you _high_?" Winters snapped into talkativeness once more, the Colt inching another few feet closer to Crowley's temple as her boots stomped across the floor, "What the hell makes you think that any of us are going to trust you after what you tried to pull…"

"Let him talk." Dean's order took his niece by surprise, and her face displayed as much as she briefly glanced away from Crowley to flash Dean an incredulous expression.

"I think the two of you have done enough deals with the Devil to use up your centennial quota, am I right?"

Sam saw his brother's face contort with suppressed pain for a moment, saw images of John and Sam's corpses flashing before Dean's eyes. He felt a surge of white hot anger rush through his blood and did his best to force the monster back inside its box.

Surprisingly enough, it was Crowley who spoke up in the brothers' defence.

"You've no bloody idea, do you?" The crossroads demon turned from Dean to grace Nate with lifted eyebrows, "What they've given up – to save a planet full of ungrateful mongrels like yourself. Don't get me wrong," He shrugged as she eyed him shrewdly, "I honestly don't know why they bother. Maggots crawling on a dung heap, humanity. I'd rather put you all out of your misery. But," He sighed, "For some reason, these two knuckleheads insist on sacrificing every smidgeon of hope they get their hands on to keep your kind relatively safe and out of trouble. So tell me – who's the better man in this equation?"

"The one with the gun." Nate responded, unflinching as she pulled the trigger on the Colt.

There was a click.

No shot.

Nate swallowed heavily as she attempted another shot, and another.

Crowley smiled, "Jammed, is it? I guess there are advantages to being shot at outside of a Devil's Trap, am I right, boys?" He cast a shrewd glance in Sam and Dean's direction before tutting at the girl opposite him, "It's a mistake your _daddy_ wouldn't make again…which is probably why he's the one with the _knife_. Less bolts and cogs."

Nate rolled her eyes at Sam who remained silent.

"Good thing, though. I'd be dead right now." Crowley tilted his head at Nate, "You really are a cold-blooded little bitch. Must be from your mother's side."

The pistol-whip caught the demon off guard, smacking across his mouth and sending blood spurting from his lips.

Nate made no further physical assault although her eyes were shooting daggers. Crowley clenched his jaw to and fro before spitting out a tooth. He raised his eyebrows at Nate.

"Now _that_, I reckon, was from _Daddy__'__s_ side of the gene pool. Nice swing you got there."

"Yeah? Cuz I've got an even meaner uppercut if you're interested."

"Alright, knock it off." Sam clutched Nate's elbow and lowered the Colt before removing it from her grip. Surprisingly enough, she allowed him to do so, eyes still trained sharply on the crossroads demon as Crowley strode towards Dean.

"Look, this was just a bad misunderstanding, alright? Not to worry, though," He added brightly as Dean rolled his eyes at the understatement, "I've sent Meg to Vegas. Long ways off from her usual hunting grounds. That should give you enough time to take down the rest of her posse and get Lisa and Ben out of the Panic Room."

"Well that's real generous." Dean's eyes crinkled in contempt, and Crowley shrugged.

"What can I say? I'm all heart. You're welcome. Oh," He waved a finger over his shoulder and twisted to catch Sam's eye, "one more thing. You might wanna keep an eye on those two GhostBuster wannabe friends of yours. Word has it they've put a bounty out on Little Miss Muffet via the web. Ten grand for a corpse, twenty if she's kicking and screaming."

Nate Winters half-laughed, half-scoffed, "You mean Ed and Harry are seriously siccing a pack of nerdacious, basement-dwelling amateurs on my back? I'm terrified."

"Imagine what one of them would do for twenty grand's worth of Star Wars memorabilia and you damn well will be, Sunshine." Crowley snapped, apparently un-amused by Nate's complete lack of healthy fear.

Unfortunately, even Sam was unable to hide a sardonic grin, "Thanks for the heads-up, Crowley, but I think we can handle it."

"Suit yourselves." Crowley raised an eyebrow and wiped at a trickle of blood that still ran down the side of his lip, "Always a pleasure, boys. Winters," He nodded coolly at Nate, and she puckered up to send a condescending kiss in his direction.

Once the room had been cleared of all demonic personnel, Sam, Dean and Nate exchanged guarded expressions.

"Well, _I__'__m_ gonna need more beer." Dean declared.

"Relax." Nate stated dryly, "Crowley's a backstabbing penis," She ignored the perturbed scrunch of both brother's faces at the unusual metaphor, "but at least he's taken Abezethibou out of the picture. Means one less demonic son of a bitch keeping us from dealing with Meg."

"Speaking of Meg," said Sam, "What exactly is the plan now your cover has been blown?"

"Excuse me?" His daughter frowned and appeared, for all intents and purposed, bewildered.

Sam raised his eyebrows, "You know, the whole 'Nate slipped me fake Croatoan via Crowley then swapped me a forged ancient book' thing?"

Nate's eyes shifted briefly to side in confusion and she shrugged, "Not a problem."

At that, Dean let out a dry chuckle from his position seated at the faded table, and Nate flashed him a dirty scowl.

"What?"

"Nothin', just, uh…you sure that's your real hair color?"

Sam sighed and placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder as she opened her mouth to unleash some witty rejoinder.

"Guys, seriously. Give it a rest."

"What I was gonna explain before you shot me down," She glared up at Sam and took several steps away from him, "was that it's not a problem because this is exactly the kind of business that demons understand. Or hadn't you noticed their M.O is more than just a little unfriendly?"

Dean's brow arched and he threw his brother a look before allowing an incredulous smile, "You do know who you're talkin' to, right?"

Nate rolled her eyes and tucked her hands into the pocket of her jeans as she twisted a boot into the ratty carpet, "Look, I don't mean to be a bitch…"

"Just comes with the hormones. We get it."

"I'm trying to _help_ you." She retorted to Dean's sarcastic slam, "Look, I didn't sign up for Crowley's spanner-throwing either. Just promise me the two of you won't blow a fuse and I'll take care of our favourite little Crossroads King."

"Enough with the false bravado, for God's sake!" Sam had had more than enough of it, as a matter of fact, and it reflected in his tone as he turned on Nate, face a picture of frustration, "Don't you get it? You're in way over your head here. Do you _really_ think you can play Crowley, Meg, Oplexicon, _and_ me and Dean, all at the same time?"

"I'm _not_ playing you!"

"Yeah. You _are_." Concern was overriding frustration now, softening Sam's tone and features simultaneously. Dean watched his little brother as Sam hunched his massive shoulders and stooped to Nate's eye level.

"I get it. You're keeping a tight guard and that's good. Nothing wrong with it – but you've gotta let someone in sometime. It's the only reason Dean and I are still alive today."

The stillness of the motel's deserted carpark and the chirping of a lone were the only companions to the dull sunshine creeping in through the motel blinds and lighting up the dust diamonds.

Nate Winters was, for once in her life, quiet – _and_ not glaring. A first, Dean noted.

"You need to tell us what happened with Skandar." Sam urged, "It's the only way we can make sure he doesn't come after Geri."

The small-framed female regarded Sam with intense gray eyes all of a sudden, "I don't need to tell you shit."

Nate's bruises shone brightly against her pale skin, rolled off the tight curves of her too-lean face and neckline and every other part of her that wasn't covered. Her chin jutted forward stubbornly and her eyes, nestled in two dark hollows, were a haze of unreadable emotion – with fear being, unbeknownst to her, the most prominent of all.

Dean knew that look. Heck, Sam had spent most of his life wearing it. Didn't mean the kid could get away with thinking she had earned the level of trust that she was asking from the Winchesters.

"What happened to the whole 'mutual information exchange'?"

She bristled, "Look, there's no reason why we can't all get along. Just leave my family out of the picture."

Dean stood up with a notable air of aggravation, "Okay, you know what, Sunshine? A little news flash here…"

"Dean…"

"Shut up, Sammy." He pointed a warning finger in his brother's direction while keeping his eyes on Nate as he continued, "I'm your _uncle_, okay? _He_ is your _father_. _We_ are your _family_, no matter _how_ much we all hate the fact right now!"

"Dean!"

"And we are _not_ gonna let you keep us in the dark." Dean was inches from Nate's face by now, features dark and angry, "So you had _better_ start pitching us some honesty, or it's gonna get ugly."

To her credit, Nate let out an incredulous laugh as she eyed Dean up and down and took a step back to clear her personal space.

"Man, you are a real piece of work, you know that? How many secrets have you kept from Sam? From Lisa? From Ben? I bet _that_ one's a real record-breaker."

"Shut your mouth." Dean growled in a low, dangerous tone.

"With pleasure." She snarled, turning on her heels and grabbing up the duffel bag once more, "My so-called 'family's' the one who's been asking to _open_ it all these years – of course that was so I could suck some drug lord's cock and keep Geri on a high!"

The room suddenly began to lurch and quake with an ominous rattle, and Dean, Nate and Sam hit the carpet just in time to avoid the shower of glass as two of the windows shattered unceremoniously.

"Is it the angels?" Nate looked petrified, but Dean reached over and shook his little brother's shoulder.

"Calm it down, Sammy!"

Sam looked as overwhelmed as the other two, but he ducked his head and buried it into the carpet, Dean's hand still clutching his shoulder a tight, reassuring grip.

The moment passed, the shaking subsided, and calm returned to their surroundings.

Nate, her thick, dark hair glistening with miniscule shards of glass, pushed off from the floor to look at Sam in wonder.

"Did you do that?"

Sam slumped back, long limbs bent against the floor as he stared at the carpet and wiped a small trickle of blood from his nose.

"Sorry."

"You okay?" Dean watched his brother with concern, every now and then switching his gaze to the trashed motel room around them, "You've never done that before. What's going on?"

"I dunno. I just…" Sam shrugged, still avoiding eye contact as his eyes drilled holes in the floor, "…lost it. I can't explain what happened."

Nate was pulling glass fragments from her hair while surveying her surroundings with a fierce quiet she had never yet manifested. She watched the brothers exchange mumbled dialogue for a full minute before she pulled her most uncharacteristic move to date.

Sam started at the delicate hand that fell hesitantly, almost floating, on the crook of his shoulder. He twisted around in surprise to find Nate standing behind him, wearing a look of almost guilt, and a buried sadness that he understood.

"I'm sorry." Nate muttered softly, "I…it wasn't your fault, Sam. I get that now." Her hand fell softly to her side again and balled into retreat.

"No." Sam shoved off the floor, returning to his full height and yet somehow appearing less big than he had when he had fallen, "It _is_ my fault. I should've been there. I should've known. What you went through…" He shut his eyes against the pain, "I'd give _anything_ to have known."

"But you didn't." Nate reminded him in a folorn tone as she flashed him a wan half smile, "And clearly this whole guilt trip is doing neither of us any good, so let's bury the hatchet, shall we?"

Sam nodded and returned the broken smile.

Dean watched the exchange in silence, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could allow himself to rejoice for Sam at the small step of progress. Unfortunately those very same fibers were too busy engaging themselves in distrusting Nate Winters and her every breath. Sam had been led by his emotions ever since he was child, and while he had long learned to sufficiently harness gut and instinct as a hunter, Dean worried that Sam would lose his way in such uncharted territory.

Especially if Nate Winters was dropping the bread crumbs.

* * *

Bobby glanced up from the pancakes sizzling underneath his spatula at the faint sound of a familiar roaring engine. He leant over the stove, yanking back the curtain as a dusty black classic pulled up into the salvage guard.

Ben, who had spent the entireity of the morning sulking in the living room with his i-phone earbuds firmly in place, was suddenly at Bobby's side in a flash.

"It's Dad!" He called eagerly, and Lisa looked up from where she had been setting the table to break into a relieved smile that Bobby had seldom seen her wear.

To her credit, although the old hunter had rolled out his best red carpet, it was getting more than a little faded with age.

As Lisa and Ben all but raced each other to the front door, Bobby returned his gaze to the window, squinting in the sunlight as Dean stepped out of the driver's seat and Sam out of the passenger's.

The third traveller took him by surprise as the rear door opened. She looked even leaner than when Bobby had last laid eyes on her and good deal more beat, but the thick dark waves of hair and the weather-beaten leather jacket…not to mention the rolling of Dean's eyes at a remark that left her lips…confirmed her idenity in an instant.

"Aw _hell_ no." Bobby muttered before he took another swig of the beer he'd been nursing as he cooked. He sighed heavily at the face Sam was wearing as he engaged in what actually appeared to be _civil_ conversation with his daughter on the way to the house.

"What the hell you boys gone 'n done _this_ time?" He shook his head at the empty bottle in his hand.

"I'm gonna need more beer."

"Dad!" Ben was tearing into Dean the moment the kid managed to get the front door open (Bobby had a lot of locks).

Dean was nearly knocked off balance by the giant bear hug Ben engaged him in but laughed and wrapped his arm around the boy affectionately.

"Guess I won't ask you if you missed me."

"You have _no_ idea." Ben pulled away to display the grimace he was wearing, "This place has the worst internet connection ever!"

Sam chuckled as he entered the house, "Be thankful it has _any_, Ben. You know how many years it's taken me to persuade the old man to hook one up?"

"I heard that, you idjit." Bobby rounded the corner, though he remained in the hallway as Lisa bounded jubilantly into Dean's waiting embrace.

"You're back!"

"That's right. You miss me?" He was grinning from ear to ear as he lifted his wife off her feet and planted a kiss on her mouth.

"You have _no_ idea."

"Copycat." Ben mumbled as Sam ruffled his hair, "I think we're gonna need more pancake batter."

"Sounds good. I'm famished." Dean appeared completely content as he wrapped one arm around Lisa and the other around Ben, crowding the small hallway and blocking Sam's path as he paraded them into the kitchen, "Hey Bobby, got any beer?"

"Just about to make a store run, actually." Bobby called as they dissappeared from sight before he turned to Sam, "So where's the kid?"

Sam didn't seem perturbed by the question as he cast a tired glance out the door, "She's a little skittish. Asked us to clear a path so she could hole up somewhere out of sight."

"With good reason." Bobby grunted, ignoring the look Sam shot him, "Sam, you gotta remember what Nate tried to _pull_ on you, on _all_ of you. She nearly got you _killed_!"

"She was trying to _help_." Sam replied staunchly, "Nate swapped Meg for a fake to buy us time. It was _Crowley_ who blew our cover. Meg never would've known the book wasn't the real deal if he hadn't clued her in."

Bobby's eyes widened, "So what? She still let you guys take the fall-out when it hit the fan!"

"She drew half the demons off our backs and nearly got herself killed in the process!" Sam snapped, beginning to lose patience, "And she went after Skandar. That's where we found her, at his ranch in Austin, beat to hell!"

"Would you listen to yourself?" Bobby lowered his tone as the sounds of laughter drifted from the kitchen, "We've been here before, Sam. Just you remember that."

Sam took a deep breath and forced himself to remain calm at the veiled accusation, throwing a hard, hurt glimmer of a smile at Bobby.

"You think Nate's the next Ruby."

Bobby's face fell into a strained show of pain and patience, ageing in the process, "All I'm sayin' is be careful."

Sam shook his head at the hunter, face solidifying into patent Winchester stubbornness, "You know _nothing_ about her."

He brushed swiftly by Bobby as he stepped into the house, rapping a knuckle against the front door as he went.

Bobby sighed heavily and rubbed at his eyes. A moment later the door creaked open slowly, and Nate Winters stood outside, one arm clutching her dirty duffel bag and the other hovering on the handle tentatively.

"Hey, Singer." She went on tiptoe to look over Bobby's shoulder, "The coast is clear, right? Sam told me to wait until I heard the…"

"Lisa 'n Ben are in the kitchen with Dean, and Sam's mopin' someplace." Bobby appraised the young girl critically for a long moment before Nate quirked an eyebrow.

"You gonna invite me in? Cuz I can always find a motel…"

"And drop the news to Sam I let his little girl run off after he spent weeks trackin' her down?" Bobby raised both eyebrows caustically at her, "I'll pass."

Nate crossed her arms and titled her head at the older hunter, "Look I get it. You don't trust me."

"Oh that's puttin' it _mildly_."

"Yeah well that's _tough_, Bobby." The girl seemed insulted but holding to her previous belligerence, "I don't need your approval. I don't _anyone__'__s_ approval. I just need you to stay out of my way while I save us all from Meg's Dictatorship."

Bobby flung up a hand across the hall and blocked Nate's path as she attempted to scoot past him, leaning down to make eye contact.

"Consider this a warning. You make nice with Sam and Dean, and you do right by'em – especially Sam. Or I'll hand you over to Meg myself."

Nate eyed him silently for a moment before she sighed dismally, "Et tu, Bobby?"

He removed his hand from the wall and she strode past him.

"Yeah – I do _read_, contrary to what you'd like to hold with. And you, my friend?" Nate shot two fingers in his direction as she backed away, "Are the Brutus to my Caesar."

"Guess you best watch yer back then."

Nate nodded with a jaded shrug as she stalked up the stairs.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Wow! Been forever since I updated this thing. A lot's been taking my time - I had a baby for one thing (healthy little guy but he keeps us busy). Stuck at home on maternity leave now so I finally got around to indulging in my one true love of writing again. Enjoy and leave me feedback! - Tyler**_

* * *

"So Nate sicced Oplexicon on Abezebithou and got him taken out o' the picture, is that what I'm hearin'?"

"Yeah well it came from Crowley, so who knows," Dean took a swig of his beer, slightly hindered by the weight of Ben, who had fallen asleep beside him on the sofa and was leaning heavily against his stepfather's shoulder, "Could be a pack of lies for all we know."

"Well the killing's seem to have stopped dead over the past couple weeks, so here's hopin'." Bobby joined Dean in sipping at his own bottle, "So what about this Skandar Wilson guy down in Austin? If he ain't our demon, what is he?"

Dean and Sam exchanged awkward, guarded looks for a moment before Sam cleared his throat.

"Turns out Skandar was possessed by an Incubus demon. He was preying on lonely women in the Texas area. Nate had gotten rid of'im by the time we made it."

Bobby frowned at the shifting of Sam's eyes as the young hunter spoke, "Nate excorsized him?"

Dean watched his younger brother carefully with evident displeasure in his eyes as Sam responded after taking a gulp of his beer and shaking his head.

"Seems like a fight broke out and she ended up sticking him with a demon-slaying knife. Like I said, by the time we got there, Nate had torched the corpse."

"That right?" Bobby didn't sound taken in for a moment, glancing over at Dean to confirm that Sam was, indeed, keeping the truth from him yet again. Dean said nothing, merely kept his gaze fixed steadfastly on his beer as he gulped it down.

Sam gave Bobby his patent confused look, as though questioning why it was so difficult for his friend to grasp the concept, "Yeah."

Bobby squinted at Sam.

Sam squinted at Bobby.

Dean rolled his eyes and opened another beer.

"Alright, so what's the plan now? You and I head back to Cicero and clear the coast for Lisa and Ben to go home?"

"Meg's in Vegas." The sudden appearance of Nate in the living room set everyone on edge, "Shouldn't we be heading that way to jinx whatever transaction she's got going down with that 'client' of Crowley's?"

"Who asked _you_?" Bobby quipped coldly, ignoring the weary eye-roll Sam sent his way.

"Uh, no one, actually." Nate placed her hands on top of her hip bones and tilted her head in frustration at the fact, "Even though I _am_ Future Intel Girl and Las Vegas _is_ where Meg lands her biggest batch of Croatoan _ever_."

"Even if you're right," Dean sounded as though he was highly doubtful of the fact, "There's still the fact that Ben and Lisa can't show their faces in Cicero without getting taken out by the six goons Meg left behind. We're not going to Vegas before we clear the coast for my family."

Nate sighed, "Dean." She touched her chest, "I'm hurt. Do you really think I didn't factor that not-so-little issue into my equation of brilliance?"

All three men gave the girl highly sceptical expressions, and she merely smiled with shrug of her shoulders as Lisa came around the corner, a giant smile on her face.

"Hey, baby. Whoa." Dean drew back in surprise as his wife bent down to throw her arms around him and kiss him passionately.

He was smiling in confusion when she pulled away, "What was that for?"

"Oh, only for being the best husband a woman could ever ask for." Lisa was still beaming as she plonked down next him on the sofa. When Dean, Sam and Bobby exchanged looks of complete incomprehension, she sighed.

"The tickets? Weekend reservations for me, you and Ben on Vegas Strip?" Lisa had never appeared so unreservedly excited, "The Hard Rock Hotel? I mean, how did you even _get_ these tickets?"

Dean's smile turned to stone as he glanced, along with Sam and Bobby, at Nate Winters who was poised against the doorframe and looking extremely pleased with herself before she disappeared through the threshold and out of sight.

"Well you know, funny story…"

"I can't believe we're going to Vegas!" Lisa planted another fervent kiss on Dean's mouth before bounding away, "I'll go pack our things. We'd better hurry – the flight leaves in two hours!"

Silence reigned in the living room for a full minute before Sam shrugged.

"I guess Vegas it is."

* * *

The glittery lights of the Vegas Strip cast a warm glow on the cold winter night.

Lisa was clutching Dean's hand excitedly as the three of them stood gazing up at the blinking neon sign for the Hard Rock Hotel. Ben's eyes were gleaming.

"Isn't this great?" Lisa gave Dean's hand an extra squeeze as a porter carried her bag (which was, in Dean's opinion, far too large for such a short trip) inside, "Dean?"

"Yeah." Dean's eyes were scanning the crowded street for any signs of trouble as he ushered them up the steps. He caught sight of a cunningly placed Devil's Trap scratched onto the doorstep cover above them and frowned at the terrible craftsmanship.

Nate Winters had clearly been here first.

For some reason, Dean didn't find the thought remotely comforting.

* * *

"Isn't this great?" Nate let out a low whistle as she and Sam shuffled through a packed casino alleyway of slot machines, "Check out the poker action. I'll bet you and your brother could clean this place out flat."

"Much as I would love to take advantage of drunken gamblers," The distaste with which Sam voiced the words suggested he had had more than his fair share, "we're here to scout out Meg, and calling attention to ourselves would put her on her guard in a heartbeat. Hey," He clamped down on Nate's wrist as she took hold of a slot machine joystick, "I'm serious. Low profile."

"What do you think I'm doing, Sam?" The girl appeared ruffled by her father's sentiments, "I'm fitting in." She shoved a quarter into the machine and then yanked the stick with a pointed raise of her eyebrows. The slots rolled and then chimed a jingle.

"See? I just made ten bucks." Nate waved the money in Sam's faced triumphantly, and he rolled his eyes while shoving it away.

"Would you cut it out? You're a minor – you're not even supposed to _be_ in here."

"And yet here I am." Nate patted Sam's chest, "Funny things do happen."

Sam sighed, a less-than-patient sound that strained through his nostrils and against a tightly-closed jaw as he caught up with Nate in one long stride.

"Look, I'm serious, alright?" He stepped in front of her, ignoring the amused expression that came over her face, "No drinking, no gambling, no brawling."

"No smiling, no blinking, no breathing. Got it." She nodded soberly as a dolled-up waitress brushed sensually past Sam and eyed them both with equal approval, "How you doin', sweetheart?" Nate winked in her direction as she passed, "So listen, if you're _really_ gonna lay down all these rules, I think they should apply to _both_ of us."

Sam was still too busy trying to ignore the chronic stares the pair of them were receiving as they shuffled through the crowded casino to comment beyond a "What do you mean?"

"Well, if I can't drink, gambling or fight, then you can't either." Nate stated as though it were obvious, "I mean, there is no way I could pull your ginorm0us ass out of a brawl if…." She stopped in tandem with Sam as he froze right in his tracks, eyes glued to some far-off object.

Nate frowned up at him, "What?"

Sam squinted his eyes at the sight of none other than Sarah Blake. She looked her usual stunning self, cautiously displaying her curvy figure in a tight black dress that glittered with gray rhinestones at the deep neckline. Her smile was warm yet guarded and she was tossing her side-swept hair over her shoulder as she made what Sam could already tell was polite conversation with a crowd of older gentlemen.

Nate raised an eyebrow, "You know her?"

"Come on." Sam grabbed her arm, "Let's get out of here."

But it was too late. Sarah hadn't missed the tall man, tottering briefly on the tip-toes of her high heels as she cast puzzled glances in Sam's direction.

Nate looked over her shoulder as her father practically yanked her back the way they had come towards the exit, "Demon? Whoa…" She nearly tripped as Sam's pace increased, "Angel? Seriously, Sam, slow down before I break something!"

"Sorry." Sam shortened his stride ever so slightly, although he still behaved as though they were being stalked by a deadly supernatural entity.

"Don't tell me she's some disgruntled ex girlfriend…" Nate was cut off mid-complaint as Sarah appeared out of nowhere to intercept their path with a knowing smile.

"Sam! Sam Winchester, right?"

Sam looked completely terrified but managed a polite throat clear and nod, "Uh, have we met?"

"Oh please. You only spent the past five minutes trying desperately to avoid me." She laughed, and the manner thereof suggested that she was more amused than offended by the notion, "Seriously, Sam, it's me, Sarah. You know, as in 'owner of pysco killer portrait' Sarah?"

Nate flashed Sam a confused squint and mouthed a repeat of Sarah's last words.

He ignored her, being far too occupied with trying to regain control of the situation.

"Right, Sarah, hi! Uh….long time no see."

"Yeah, it's been, what, ten years?" Sarah was still wearing that knowing, amused smile.

"Something like that, yeah." Sam grasped at straws for casual conversation starters, "So what are you doing here?"

Sarah gave him a pout at that remark, "Aren't you gonna introduce me to your friend?" She nodded at Nate, who actually smiled at the polite address and jabbed Sam in the ribs.

"Oh, right, sorry." Sam gave a nervous chuckle before grabbing Nate's elbow, removing it from his ribs and giving it a vicious squeeze, "This is Nate. She's uh….well, she's a…"

"I'm a distant cousin on his mother's side." Nate interrupted, leaning forward to shake Sarah's extended hand, "How you doing?"

"Pretty good, actually, and yourself?" Sarah gave a knowing eyebrow raise which left Nate in the dark, "Are you down with that whole, you know…_family business_ thing of Sam's?"

"If by 'family business' you mean never trimming my _sideburns_ and having a love affair with _plaid_, then _no_." Nate seemed all too eager to play dumb as she let out a vicious titter of a laugh.

Sarah and Sam joined in, the former politely and the latter in a manner which suggested he wished Nate would be swallowed by the nearest sink hole.

"Wow, so um, what brings you to Vegas?" Sam quickly changed the subject as Sarah flashed a confused glance at Nate.

"Actually, I'm here on business." The glamorous brunette nodded, "A lot of the clientele from my art museum congregrate here on the weekends, so sometimes I get invited to tag along for some free advertising."

"You opened an art museum?" Sam grinned, seeming to forget his anxiety at having been flagged for a moment.

Sarah smiled broadly, "I know, right? Don't worry – no family portraits allowed. Strictly classical. You should come and check it out – both of you." Here she addressed Nate, who had been watching the exchange between her father and the accomplished woman before them in silent observation.

"You got any Bouguereau?" She surprised them both with the question.

"As in _William_ _Adolphe_ Bouguereau?" Sarah shook her head, "Tragically, no. Though I did manage to get ahold of an original Picasso. You're an art fan?"

"Art fan, yes. Picasso fan, not so much. If I wanted to look at hideous scribblings, I could always check out the nearest crèche." Nate was back to her usual self in a heartbeat before she raised her eyebrows, "Well I guess I'd better let you two catch up. I gotta hit the sack."

Sam gave her a look which plainly stated 'nice try', "You know, Sarah's probably busy…"

"Actually, I was just about to grab some dinner." Sarah clasped her hands together and raised her eyebrows at Sam and Nate, "You guys game? There's this amazing Italian restaurant just across the street."

"Uh Sarah, I'd love to, but…"

"Scratch the 'but'." Nate slapped Sam on the shoulder, "He'd love to. Gotta feed these monsters somethin', ain't that right, _Cuz_?" She squeezed Sam's bicep in mock-affection and he looked down at her stonily in response, "Unfortunately, I've gotta bail. Insomniac, you know – have to catch the sleep wave when it hits or I'll be counting sheep all night."

"Too bad. Maybe tomorrow?" Sarah extended a hand, "It was great meeting you, Nate."

"And you, Sarah." Nate shook it briskly before clapping her father on the shoulder once again, "You two crazy kids have fun now."

"Nate…"

"Later!" She was gone, skirting blissfully through the crowd towards the nearest exit, waving her hotle keys cheerfully over her shoulder.

Sam glared balefully at the retreating figure of his daughter before he felt Sarah slide a hand under his elbow.

"Shall we?"

* * *

Dean ducked out of the glitzy bathroom of the family suite that he, Lisa and Ben were sharing, pulling on a t-shirt and towelling his hair as he stepped into the room.

"Hey, you." Lisa was lying on the king-sized bed, her Yoga-toned physique framed in a delicate satin nightie. She smiled and patted the bed.

"Where's Ben?" Dean normally wouldn't have that thought in the forefront of his mind when his beautiful wife was inviting him to bed, but this was Vegas and Meg was on the prowl.

Not to mention Nate Winters. Although thankfully she was _Sam's_ problem – at least for the next 24 hours.

"He's asleep. It's eleven thirty-five." Lisa rolled her eyes, "Look, would you relax? I thought we were here to have a good time. Unless Las Vegas is a demon hot spot and you're secretly here to do some recon?" She cast Dean a sly expression.

"What? No." Dean pulled his classic expression of ridicule at the idea as he let out a scoff and tossed the towl onto the back of a chair, "Why would you think that?"

"Oh I don't know. Maybe because the last spontaeneous holiday you booked was in Tahoe last year and you ended up seven foot underground covered in dirt and what looked like dog blood?" Lisa raised her eyebrows as Dean took a seat on the bed beside her.

"Hey, that animal was vicious. It had some kind of mutant rabies thing goin on." He defended himself, and Lisa sighed.

"Dean, I'm kidding. I just really want us to relax." She leant back and Dean followed her body movements, holding out his arm and scooting up against the headboard as she leant against his chest, "I mean after the disaster that was Christmas, it's just really nice to get a second shot at the holidays."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Dean smiled at the beautiful woman in his arms and leaned down for a kiss.

For a split atom of a second, he was almost grateful to Nate for setting this up.

Then his phone buzzed – Sam's caller ID lighting up the display screen in frantic digits.

And the moment was officially over.

"Who is it?" Lisa looked ready to pounce on the unfortunate caller wrecking her evening with Dean.

"It's Sam. He's probably just checkin' up on us. You know how he gets." Dean stood up from the bed, cell phone in hand, "I'll be right back."

"Don't be long." Lisa raised an eyebrow and settled back against the headboard, "Might end up missing all the fun."

Dean muffled a curse at his brother's terrible timing as he headed into the hallway and hit the accept call button.

"Sammy, this had better be life and death…"

"It is." Sam's tense mutter left Dean with a perfect picture of his brother's expression, "I lost Nate."

"You what?"

"I lost her, okay? Well…more like she bailed theatrically in front of an audience. Listen, just…see if you can get ahold of her." Sam was standing hunched in the corner of the restaurant where he and Sarah were having dinner.

"Oh right, cuz I have your wayward, errant lovechild on my _speed dial_!" Dean dropped it to an angry whisper as a hotel steward passed by.

"Dean…"

"Sam, _no_. We already dolled out the jobs. _I_ keep Lisa and Ben occupied. _You_ and Nate sniff out Meg."

"What do you think I'm _doing_, Dean?" Sam cast a quick glance over his shoulder at Sarah and she flashed a smile in his direction. He returned it nervously before twisting back around and replacing the panicked expression, "Look, you _gotta_ help me out here, okay, Dean? _Please_."

"How exactly am I supposed to help you out?" Dean whisper-yelled, "I'm the middle of playing Happy Families, in case you hadn't noticed. I can't just bail on Ben and Lisa."

"Just say you're going for a burger."

"Sorry, man. You're on your own." Dean hung up before he allowed Sam to change his mind. His little brother was going to have to step up to the plate and tough out the whole fatherhood thing sometime, and the longer Dean was holding out the safety net, the longer it would take Sam to man up.

Still fighting off guilt, Dean ducked back inside the hotel room only to narrowly avoid bumping smack into Lisa.

"Whoa." He took in her frazzled countenance with a look of surprise, "What's going on?"

"It's Ben. He's gone – I went to his room to say goodnight and his bed was full of pillows!"

Dean had already began marching in the direction of Ben's room once Lisa had gotten out her first two words, and she followed anxiously on his heels as she continued.

"There's only one exit in this suite and that's through our room. He must've snuck out while we were in the shower."

Dean shoved open the door to Ben's hotel room and took in the immaculate state of things. No sign of a struggle or even the faintest whiff of sulphur. The pillows had been arranged in an orderly fashion to imitate a sleeping body, and Ben's converse shoes and jacket were nowhere to be seen.

"He pulled a runner alright." Dean pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial while Lisa hurried to change her clothes.

The line crackled.

"Dean. This is a very bad time."

"Yeah tell me about it. My kid's just gone AWOL. I need you to sniff him out."

He could almost picture the irritated expression on Castiel's face.

"Very well."

The voice came from directly behind him and Dean jumped, turning towards the archangel that had suddenly appeared.

Castiel looked more frazzled than usual as his eyes darted to and fro, "Strange."

"What?" Dean tried to keep a lid on his growing impatience but the snap in his voice was there nonetheless.

"Ben is hidden from my sight. He is…off the radar, so to speak."

Dean's face grew dangerous, "Wait a minute. I thought you said you tagged him."

"I did." Castiel snapped, before shaking his head, "This is Nate's doing."

"How do you figure?" Dean figured exactly the same thing. But all the same, he knew Castiel had a particularly strong vendetta against Nate Winters, and he had to ask.

"She must have slipped him the same hex bags she keeps to cloak her movements. The ritual list is only found in the ancient book of spells belonging to Meg,"

Dean shook his head, jaw clenching tightly.

"In all likelihood, Ben is with Nate – and she can't be far considering that she and Sam are staying in a hotel only two blocks from here." Castiel reasoned in an attempt to be helpful.

"What?" Lisa stood in the doorway, face a picture of confusion and disbelief as she looked from Castiel to Dean, "Nate and Sam are here?"

Dean grappled for the right words to speak as he watched Lisa's eyes harden in understanding.

"Lise…"

"So this is a hunt." Lisa smiled, but it was pained.

"It's not a hunt!" Dean retorted, and she raised her eyebrows.

"Oh really? So what is it then?"

"Look, Sam and Nate are just doin' a little recon, okay? It's got nothing to do with us."

"Then why the big secret, Dean?" Lisa crossed her arms, "If you're really not involved and this is not a hunt, why didn't you tell me Sam and Nate are here in Vegas? What are you trying to hide?"

"Nothing, alright?" Dean was tired – tired of lying to his family and tired of chasing demon trails, "Look, we can stand here and argue or we can go find Ben."

"I'll scour Sam and Nate's hotel room; see if I can find anything." Castiel quickly retreated from the fighting with a flap of his invisible wings.

Lisa gave Dean a cold stare before she pulled on her jacket, "You're good at this whole tracking thing. You lead the way."

Dean sighed and closed his eyes, "Lisa…"

She slammed the door behind her as she left the hotel room.

Dean scrubbed a hand across his face before heading to their bed and shuffling through his duffel bag. He pulled out a flask of holy water, a can of rock salt and tucked his trusty handgun into his belt.

God, he was tired.

* * *

The air inside the back-street bar was a haze of cigarette smoke and beer. The petite brunette in a leather jacket and navy blue bootcuts strode casually through the lines of pool tables, hands tucked into her pockets.

Nate sized up the room in a glance, her face a picture of disinterest as she took a seat on one of the grimy barstools and tapped the counter.

The bartender, a butch woman with a blonde crew cut, looked her up and down as she smacked at the gum in her mouth, "Beat it, kid, before I call the cops."

"Oh please." Nate grimaced in disappointment, "We both know the last thing you want is a bunch of green recruits happening upon this fine establishment and discovering exactly what it is your boss has got going on behind that cheesy beaded curtain." She indicated her head towards the back door in question, and the bartender raised an eyebrow.

"You got a mouth on ya, squirt. What makes you think I ain't gonna throw you out myself?"

"You won't." Nate leant forward with a smile, "Because I'm paying you not to." Her right palm slid forward, and the woman looked down to see a 100 dollar bill peeking out from between Nate's slender fingers.

She glanced around before casually reaching out for it, only to have Nate withdraw her hand.

"That group of guys over there?" Nate nodded towards a table by the back door seating three heavy-set men who were attempting to look nonchalant as they pretended to play poker, "Where's their lady friend?"

"She came in the front and left out the back." The bartender placed her hands on her hips, "You gonna order something or what?"

Nate smiled and patted the money on the counter, "Thanks for your time."

She slid off the barstool, noticing suddenly that the lurking men were eyeing her suspiciously – or lustfully…come to think of it, it was both. Nate gave them a coy smile and wink as she turned and strode purposefully out of the bar.

_Found you._

A vibration in her jeans pocket had Nate rolling her eyes and digging for the damn thing. Sam had stopped calling her a little over half an hour ago and Nate thought she had finally ditched him. A quick glance at the caller ID informed her that it was now Dean who was on the witch hunt.

_Great_. Nate hung up the call and switched off her cell. She was in no mood to haggle with either Winchester right then. But she had finally tracked down Meg and was sensible enough to know she'd need back-up – for once. It was time to sniff out Sam.

She glanced in the restaurant window where she had last seen him and Sarah eating dinner and exchanging awkward glances and decided the night had been a flop. Sam was likely at the hotel room he had forced/insisted/badgered Nate into sharing with him, wearing his typical tight-jawed, angered expression and glaring holes into his cell phone.

Nate smiled sweetly at the image as she rode the elevator up to their room.

Unlocking the door, she was taken aback at finding it empty.

"Sam?" Nate scoured the rooms, eyes searching for any signs of a struggle. But the room was exactly as it had been when she and Sam had headed to the casino to sniff out Meg. Her well-worn duffel bag was still stuffed under the single bed where she had left it – Sam's as well, except his was tossed nonchalantly on his bed along with his oversized jacket that he had ditched after spilling some questionable veggie shake on the collar.

A sudden noise from the bathroom had Nate making her way over to check it out, casually fingering the demon-slaying knife she had stopped to pull from Sam's bag. Pushing open the door, she was surprised to find Ben about to jump her with an elaborate candlestick.

"Shit!" Nate inhaled deeply, and Ben slumped back in relief, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You think I didn't know you and Sam would be here?" Ben had obviously worked himself up and was twice as huffy as normal, "You're going after Meg, aren't you?"

Nate rolled her eyes, "Come on." She tucked her knife into ther belt and grabbed Ben by the arm.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" Nate shoved Ben down the bed, "Sit." She pulled out her phone and switched it on.

"Wait – who are you calling?" Ben attempted to stand only to have Nate shove him in the chest back onto the mattress again.

"Room service." Nate hit speed dial and held it to her ear as she turned to face Ben with frustration, "I'm calling _Dean_ and telling him to come pick you up before he decides that this was all _my_ idea and shows up packing!"

"This _was_ your idea! You gave me the hex bag!" Ben pushed Nate's arm aside impatiently as he stood up, "You told me you could get me in on some hunts…"

"Yeah well I didn't mean _this_ one!" Nate barked, "Meg is _way_ out of your league. Hell, she's way out of _my_ league. You want action? Go shoot some cans."

Ben's face twisted in anger and he sprang out, grabbing hold of Nate's cell phone and attempting to yank it out of her hand.

"Let go!"

"Knock it off!"

A brief tussle ensued, which resulted in Nate accidentally elbowing Ben in the face. He fell, banged his head on the bed post and passed out on the floor after a moment of dizzy wavering.

Nate rolled her eyes, "Great." She knelt down beside him and felt his pulse, checking his skull or ears for any bleeding, "You're fine." She patted his chest before standing up and running a hand through her hair.

"How the hell am I gonna explain _this_ one?"

After settling Ben comfortably (which took a great deal of _dis_comfort on her part) Nate headed out, determined to hunt down Sam and explain the situation in the hopes he would serve as a buffer between her and Dean's undoubted wrath.

A healthy scouring of various hotels and one brief session of flirting with a waiter at a restaurant had Nate finally zeroing in on Sarah Blake's hotel room – where she assumed she would find Sam engaged in a heartfelt conversation over a bottle of wine, discussing art and poetry and wearing that annoying puppy dog expression that Nate just couldn't stand.

After attempting to pick the lock on Sarah's door and reaffirming that her skills in that department were sadly lacking, Nate settled for a talent that she _did_ possess.

Jumping the cleaning lady proved easier than she had reckoned, and though Nate had scored a nice shiner to her right cheekbone in the process, that was thankfully the least of her worries.

She fished through the key ring attached to the cleaning trolley and smiled as she held up the small brass item.

"Bingo."

Sarah Blake might have appeared modest on the surface, but the suite in which the woman was staying imparted a different impression. Exquisitely decorated and sporting a sofa set that Nate reckoned was more comfortable than the bed she'd slept on for the first 12 years of life…she spotted Sam's jacket slung over the back of it and heard the faint splashing of a running shower.

Most likely Sarah getting ready for a candle-lit night of consummation. How very sentimental.

"Sam?" Nate was in a hurry, barging decidedly to the ensuite bedroom where she expected to find her father lighting scented candles and selecting the best Michael Buble CD, "Hey, listen, we gotta go…woah!"

The broad shoulders rippling with tightly bunched muscles and the tousled brown hair clenched between female fingers was its own giveaway. Nate barely had time to swallow her words while Sam and Sarah attempted to untangle themselves in shock.

"Oh god!" Sarah, hair wildly askew and neck covered in love bites, pulled the sheets over her chest as Sam rolled off her and grabbed the nearest pillow.

"Oh…wow. Um…sorry." Nate held up her hands, "I just…need to borrow Sam. Sort of a family emergency…wow, you are _really_ ripped for a nerd!"

"Get out!" Sam seethed as he reached frantically for his boxer shorts.

"I'm going!" Nate found the offending items on the chair and tossed them at him, "By the way, that is a _nice_ tattoo!"

"Thank you." Sarah offered incredulously.

"Get. Out!" Sam had pulled on his boxers and proceeded to toss the pillow he'd been holding at Nate. The detterent was sufficient and she ducked hastily out of the door.

* * *

"I can't believe it. All your big talk about low key behaviour – I mean, the only person I know able to twist her body at that angle is a professional _contortionist_!"

"Yeah? Where the hell where _you_?" Sam grabbed Nate's arm, jerking her less than gently to a halt as she almost walked in front of a speeding porshe, "I've been calling you for hours. I went back to Sarah's hotel because one of her clients runs the biggest drug business in Vegas and she was going to put out on IPB!"

"Right, and somehow she thought your mouth was the phone?" Nate laughed dryly as they proceeded to cross the street, "Seriously, Sam, pitch me whatever makes you feel better but the fact is you and Sarah were at it like rabbits…mutant, bendy rabbits, but you get the picture!"

"Shut up." Sam was in no mood to be jibed at, and the crushing grip he maintained on Nate's arm as they entered their hotel sent the message loud and clear.

"Look, all I'm saying is next time, just give me a heads-up. That way I know you're off getting busy somewhere instead of bleeding out in a gutter."

"Okay, you know what? _I'm_ the parent here, not you. _I'm_ the one you blindsided – if _anyone_ has a right to be angry here, it's _me_!" Sam had had enough of Nate's hypocrisy, his face depicting as much as they stepped into the elevator and the doors chimed closed, "What happened to your face?"

"Had to KO the cleaning lady for a grab at Sarah's room keys. What happened to _yours_? Oh that's right – _Sarah_ sucked it off!"

"You could've _called_!" Sam was not done reprimanding as they exited the hotel, "What's the emergency?"

"No emergency. I thought we were here to sniff out Meg, but evidently _someone_ got a booty call." Nate rolled her eyes at Sam, "Oh and um Ben turned up in our hotel room."

"What?" Sam stopped in his tracks and halted Nate by grabbing her arm, "Are you serious? How'd he even know where we were?"

"I don't know, Sam. Maybe he tracked you down the same way _I_ did. I mean, you're kinda hard to miss." Here she waved a hand as high above her head as she could reach while raising her eyebrows to emphasize her point, "Most people around these parts settle for hard cash or a cold grope in exchange for information. Don't worry; I'm sure Ben went with the green stuff." She patted Sam's chest and he gave her a disgusted expression.

"Something is seriously wrong with me." Nate deadpanned him, "I know. Now can we _please_ make tracks? Your nephew is handcuffed to the bed right now, but as soon as he wakes up…"

"Wakes up?" Sam said incredulously, "What the hell did you do to him?"

"It was an accident." His daughter attempted to placate him as they began walking rapidly once more, "I was calling your brother when Ben jumped me. During the hustle I accidently threw an elbow. I'm sure he's fine."

"You see?" Nate glanced up at Sam matter-of-factly, "Fine."

Sam struggled for appropriate wording to explain that the fact the entire left side of Ben's face was swollen and mottled with green and purple hues was anything but fine.

Nate interpreted his silence well enough and let out a low sigh, "We're screwed, huh?"

"We?" Sam turned to her, "_You_ did this."

"Should've been here to keep an eye on me, Sam, you know, since I'm so _dangerous_." Nate clawed the air dramatically, "But no, you were too busy banging Mona Lisa Smile…"

"Okay, enough!" Sam ran a hand through his hair, "Look, we'll just…call Dean and explain what happened…"

"Um, a little late for that, Sam." Nate's eyebrows arched and she pointed a thumb at the door, through which could be heard the muffled protests of a hotel attendant protesting "Sir, you really can't go in there without…"

The door to the hotel room was promptly kicked in, splintering at the lock. Sure enough, in stalked Dean, looking for all intents and purposes like a human thunder cloud.

Sam raised his hands at his brother, "Dean, I can explain _everything_."

"Really? Because I'm dying to hear it, Sam." Dean was positively livid as he crossed the space between them, "I ask you to watch your _own_ kid for 24 hours, _24_ hours, Sam, and look what happens!"

"In his defense…" Nate raised a finger and stepped out from where she had subconsciously been hiding behind Sam, but Dean cut her right off.

"Shut up."

She shrugged, "You're on your own."

"I was out tracking down Meg. Nate came back to the hotel room and found Ben here waiting; when she tried to call you, he attacked her!" Sam had been 'on his own' when it came to extricating himself from sticky situations for years.

Dean turned to Nate, "You did this to him?"

"Would you believe 'he did it to himself'?" She offered, "Because that's indirectly true."

"Oh my god!" Lisa's voice sounding out from behind Dean cut off whatever vicious remark he had been about to dish out. She hurried into the room and was at Ben's side in a heartbeat.

"What happened?"

"_She_ happened!" Dean pointed at Nate, who sighed in exasperation.

"Your kid showed up at our hotel room. When I tried to call Dean to come pick him up, Ben jumped me and I accidentally knocked him out. Happy?"

"Happy?" Lisa raised her eyebrows as Ben stirred with a groan in her arms, "Does any of this look like the kind of thing that would make me _remotely_ 'happy'?"

The outburst of wrath from the normally placid woman had everyone silenced, which was a good thing as Lisa was apparently far from finished.

"I have put with all kinds of intolerable, unexplicably weird situations as a result of _you_ two over the past six years, but _this_," She snapped the word for emphasis, "is the final straw! There are going to be some major changes around here starting _now_! Come on, Ben – we're leaving."

"Lisa…" Dean sighed.

"No." She responded flatly, slinging Ben's arm around her shoulder as he stood up groggily and squinted at the room's occupants, "We're taking the next flight out of Vegas and we're going to stay with my mother. You call me when you're done stalking demons."

"Oh right, cuz those demons are just gonna let you waltz outta here with the red carpet treatment." Dean was already storming after his wife as Lisa helped Ben out of the hotel room, "Lisa! At least let me put you on a flight."

Sam stepped forward to follow, but Dean, as though sensing his brother's intentions, turned and pointed at him sharply.

"Stay."

The steel flinting in Dean's eyes and the look on his face was enough to inform Sam that doing anything else would not only be counterproductive but life-threatening. Instead he sighed and threw up his hands in despair as his brother slammed the hotel door shut tightly behind him, leaving Sam and Nate alone.

The silence was deafening. Sam sunk back onto the bed and rubbed at his face. Nate scratched at the corner of her eye and examined her nail.

Finally she gave up, sitting down next to Sam and heaving a long, deep sigh.

"Sorry about your brother."

Sam looked up from his palm and flashed her a weary expression, "We should put some ice on that." He frowned at the swelling bruise under Nate's eye.

"So what now?" Nate queried as he stood up from the bed and walked to the minibar, "We need to move fast if we wanna stop Meg from scoring big. She's setting up the meet with Sabra as we speak."

"Got an address?" Sam's giant frame was almost doubled over as he reached into the tiny fridge, pulling out a soda and swinging the minibar door shut before making his way back to Nate.

"Maybe." Nate accepted the ice-cold can and held it to her eye as she looked up at him suspiciously, "I thought Dean told you to stay put."

"Yeah. And?" Sam seemed almost amused at the notion. Nate wasn't impressed.

"Look, if this is part of some whole 'cool, rebel dad' thing, you can drop the act. Dean's the boss of you and we both know it."

Sam let out a laugh, "Dean's my brother. He's just being protective – it's in his blood."

"Yeah, so is the family temper." The young girl replied caustically, "Seriously, Sam. You should stay here. I can jinx the deal with Sabra. All I need is some rope and a hundred bucks."

"Right." Sam's laugh was more of a scoff this time around before his face turned hard, "And just uh…how the hell are you gonna take on _Meg_ with nothing but some _rope_ and a hundred freaking bucks?"

Nate's smile sent a non-reassuring chill down the entire length of Sam's spine.


	19. Chapter 19

_**Another turtle-paced update finally arriving your way! Just went back to work and between the lil guy and that things are nuts! Anyway really anxious to pump out faster updates...and then read all the feedback you're gonna leave me ;).**_

_**- Tyler**_

* * *

The security guard at the desk of the plush apartment building glanced wearily at the clock before pushing away from his chair and rising to his feet. It was finally time for his shift to end and he was anticipating a good night's sleep.

He slung his jacket on over his shoulders and turned only to come face to face with a strikingly beautiful woman and two male companions standing at the counter.

He blinked, wondering where they had come from. The lobby had been empty only moments before.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

The petite brunette smiled, "I hope so. I'm here to see a friend – Sabra Parkins? We're supposed to have cocktails."

"Sabra? Lady, getting her on the intercom these days is like winning the lottery. It's the middle of the night and I'm finished my shift. Best thing you can do is wait for the new guard on duty to track her down for you."

He moved to brush past the woman, hoping she would let the matter rest. He didn't get farther then two steps, however, before he was impaled on an ice-cold hand the plunged through his insides with unnatural strength.

"Hello, Sabra." Meg's eyes were wide and yellow as she spoke into the intercom being held to her mouth by her demonic accomplices, "It's Meg Masters here to see you. And I'm bringing some hors d'oeuvres."

* * *

Sabra Parkins was a tall, high-fashion beauty – or at least, her vessel was….or had been, considering that she had certainly seen better days and was pushing fifty with a very long stick. Her African-American complexion was almost olive in hue, and her slick, relaxed hair was kept a flattering copper by means of the best salon in Vegas.

Her eyes were by far her most compelling feature; two dark green orbs that seemed perpetually amused and at the same time indifferent as they pierced the hull of anybody brave enough to meet them.

Those same eyes moved with the wariness of a hawk stalking its prey as Meg Masters and her entourage were ushered inside the plush penthouse apartment.

"Nice digs." Meg, completely out of place in dark jean and dusty leather, took in her surroundings with a raise of her eyebrow, "I gotta give it to you. Most demons from your generation have no taste whatsoever."

Sabra cocked her head and the amusement in her eyes spread to a slow tug at lips that had once been full and were now beginning to diminish beneath layers of lip gloss, "What's this about, Masters? And please keep it brief – I am a _very_ busy woman."

At that, Meg smothered a snort into a studious-sounding grunt, "Well, this won't take long. But before we dispense with all the pleasantries," She motioned to one of her goons and he disappeared, "How about a nightcap?"

Sabra pressed her lips together tightly in a show of strained patience as Meg's henchman returned with two tall glasses of thick red liquid. Meg took her glass from him before indicating him towards Sabra.

The older demon eyed the glass condescendingly, "I get fresher blood than this on door-delivery."

"Cord blood?" Meg was not to be outdone, as she tilted her head with a smile and raise of her eyebrow, "Fresh from the umbilical. I think you'll find its intoxicating powers to be…" She raised her glass at Sabra, "exceptional."

"Please tell me there's not some gutted mother in the dumpster of my condo." Sabra continued to remain unimpressed by Meg's attempts, "That would be _very_ bad for business."

"Well if it's _business_ that interests you," Meg cut to the chase, "I'll get to the point. You're sitting on a very large supply of anticoagulants. I need them."

"For your little Croatoan factory?" Sabra sniffed the glass of blood before rolling her eyes at Meg's shocked expression, "Oh please. Yes I know about it – you're not exactly keeping a low profile, are you, dear? I'm surprised, though." She finally took a sip of the blood and winced, "Last I heard, you were hand-in-glove with that two-timer Crowley. Why come to me?"

"I hear you like to invest." Meg crossed the wooden flooring to bring herself closer to Sabra, "I have an _investment_ proposal for you," She raised an eyebrow saucily, "If you have a minute."

Sabra slowly flashed a smile which was wiped from her face at the sound of the buzzer.

"As a matter of fact, I was expecting company. And as you can see, they have arrived." Sabra paused as she hit the open button with a long, manicured fingernail before she raised her eyebrows at Meg, "Unless…you'd rather stay? My parties are legendary."

Meg took the invite with the quiet glory of a victor as she smirked, "Oh I'm all about the night life."

"Good." Sabra reflected the smile which suggested she had her own, personal reasons for feeling smug right about then, "Because I warn you, my parties get a little…wild."

The elevator chimed and she opened her front door to allow a crowd of affluent looking business men and woman. Meg didn't recognize the majority of them but she noticed a few prominent political figures in the mix.

And then the real party stalked in – a hodgepodge of grotesquely beautiful men and women clad in scanty, slutty garb. Their costumes ranged from the generic leather catsuit to exotic Egyptian attire, hair arranged in messy beehives or skulls smoothly shaven and glittering gold. Their wide assortment of accessories included whips, chains and wicked-looking bottles.

A tall, broad Egyptian slave with golden skin and huskily-lined eyes gave Meg a wink as he sauntered past.

The demon turned to Sabra with a less-than-amused expression.

"Well, I gotta say, I knew times were hard - but I had no idea you'd turned _pimp_."

Sabra didn't seem in the least bit offended by the insinuation, "Sweetheart, this is your average Friday night afterparty in Vegas. When in Rome," She smacked a toga-clad female on the backside as the young woman sauntered past, "Do a Roman."

Meg chewed her cheek as Sabra gave her a knowing smile before heading off to see to her guests.

Occupied as she was with her ire, Meg failed to notice that one of the 'entertainers' looked more than a little familiar.

* * *

Nate Winters bit a heavily-painted lip and did her best to keep a demure head-duck from the cover of her catwoman mask. The costume was ill-fitting, and the imitation leather felt more like plastic that was already sticking to her skin with the sweat she had broken out in. She pulled at the thigh-high boots that were sagging around her legs and wondered if Sam's constant nagging that she was in desperate need of a few pounds might not be far wrong.

The extra curves would definitely have helped hold the damn strapless leotard up. As it was, Nate would have to settle for giving it a constant tug upwards.

Music began to boom through the apartment's impressive surround sound system. Nate cringed away from Kanye West crooning through a throbbing speaker and swiped up one of the expensive-looking glasses of champagne that littered the enormous living area. She took an anxious swig and cringed at the taste.

Sam was probably conscious by now and more than a little pissed off at being blind-sided by ninety pounds of Natey. Not like Nate could've stood a chance against Sam in a million years had she not spiked his coffee.

At least Nate had left him sleeping serenly – and well out of danger – in the car they'd jacked, along with a note explaining that Sam needed to be parked around the back of Sabra's apartment at exactly 5 AM.

Nate checked her digital watch. She had twenty minutes.

"Well _hello_ there!"

Nate rolled her eyes and turned obligingly at the call, only to come face to face with a grey-haired senator who she recognized from a glossy coffee shop magazine. His breath smelt strongly of whiskey, but his smile was less of a sneer than it was an obnoxious grin, and Nate squared her shoulders and pasted on a coy smile.

"Hola."

Instantly the man's grin faded slightly, "English?"

Nate pressed her luck with a doe-eyed expression, "Que?"

* * *

"I'm gonna kill her."

"Sammy, calm down."

"However many _pieces_ of her make it out of there are grounded till the next Apocalypse!"

Dean had to release the chuckle he'd been suppressing the entire car ride on the way to his brother. He'd still been furious with Sam after dropping Lisa and Ben off at the airport, and the phone call from a groggy Sam detailing Nate's latest shenanigan hadn't exactly lightened his mood.

But after hearing the full extent of Sam's disgruntlement, Dean was beginning to feel slightly improved. So much so that he was even managing to smile at his brother's evident fury.

If Nate Winters was going to make Dean's life miserable, she'd damn well better make Sam's a living hell.

And now, as the two brothers made their way back to Sam's car (Nate had kindly parked it – along with an unconscious Sam – outside of a filthy nightclub), Dean was actually resisting the urge to grin at his niece's antics…or more importantly, at Sam's ire.

"It's not funny, Dean!"

"I'm sorry, _you_ grounding _Nate_? It's a little funny."

"No, it's not." Sam was in full bitch-mode, apparently, square jaw locked tightly, eyes cold and spitting sparks, fists bunched as he strode to his car and all but tore the door off by the handle, "And you know what, Dean, if all you're gonna do is sit around and laugh at this…."

"Whoa, whoa, who's laughin'?" Dean managed to pull on his poker face and deadpan it as Sam turned to him in frustration.

His brother eyed him coldly.

Dean sighed, "Look – what'd the note say exactly?"

Now Sam laughed sardonically, "You mean the scrappy _coffee receipt_ Nate scribbled on with an eyeliner before she ditched me?"

"Yeah. That." Dean was honestly a little baffled at Sam being so put out about yet another double-cross from Nate Winters, considering the brothers' track record with her until that point.

Dean surmised he would have to put it down to paternal myopia.

Sam was yanking the driver's door to his car open now. "It said, and I quote, 'Went to Sabra's to thwart Meg's evil plan. Meet me outside at 5 AM. Couldn't take passengers.'"

"Well what can I say, Sammy - like father, like daughter."

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?" His brother did a full one-eighty and loomed menacingly over him at that remark.

Dean held his ground. "It _means_ if I had a dollar for every time you bailed on me with the words 'I left a _note'_…"

"_Dean_." It wasn't really a name. It was a one-worded 'I'll rip your throat out if you don't shut up'.

"5 AM, huh?" Dean had to good grace to oblige Sam by laying off – although he certainly wasn't feeling gracious after the Cold War he'd fought with Lisa all the way to the airport over the incident with Ben…an incident which, in Dean's mind, was in good part thanks to Nate Winters.

He swung himself into the shotgun seat, "We got about ten minutes."

Sam was already revving the engine into life.

* * *

Meg was getting impatient.

Sabra was playing hostess to the nth degree, ushering her maids – delicate asian beauties clad in cocktail dresses – to attendance, laughing at the flirtation attempts made by the various guests…and pointedly ignoring Meg's scowls.

Meg wasn't used to being ignored. It grated at her.

"I gotta say…"

She rolled her eyes at the slurred voice that sent rum-laden breath billowing against her neck.

Not another one.

"Really diggin' the costume, sweets." It was the same ageing, drunk politician who had been making rounds for the last twenty minutes – so far with no luck. Meg wasn't about to break the pattern.

"Most o' the other girls, they pull out the whips and chains and fishnets, but _you_," The man's nose was beginning to blush an unbecoming shade of red to match the veins in his eyes as he nearly tripped over Meg's boot in an effort to lean closer, "You got _class_, sister."

Meg would have loved to silence her harraser permanently, but decorum dictated that this was Sabra's playing field. If Meg still wanted to close a deal, she would have to play it civil.

Without sparing a glance at the drunken man, she raised an eyebrow in contempt, "I'm not one of Sabra's _cupcakes_, douchebag. Why don't you save the sappy come-on lines for Miss Marvel over there?"

"What, you mean the…'Catwoman'?" The man raked his fingers in the air sarcastically before he twisted his face into a snort, "Shouldn't we say 'Mujer Gato'? I mean she can't even speak _American_, for God's sakes. Sabra needs to stop trying to cut costs with these cheap imports…"

Meg stopped listening. The moment she had actually turned her head to briefly cast a particularly mordant glare at the senator, she'd caught sight of the object of conversation.

Something about the slim, almost rakish build of the catwoman lurking close to Sabra was definitely familiar. But it was when the girl reached into the pocket of her waistpouch and pulled out a dirty-looking flask - that was when Meg made the connection.

"…why if you vote for me next elections, you'll be pleased to know," The senator had kept up his intoxicated rambling, and Meg snapped back to attention as he poured himself yet another shot, "I plan on cracking down _severely_ in the immigration department. Are you Republican or Democrat, by the way?"

Meg removed the hand the man had unwittingly place across her path in an attempt to steady himself, "Excuse me."

Meg began stalking deliberately towards Nate Winters. Oh it was her, alright. The little imp was one of the only two people on earth who knew about Meg's clandestine meet with Sabra. The other was Crowley, and Meg highly doubted the stocky demon could squeeze into those thigh-highs.

As Meg neared, she watched Nate's head jerk up and make eye-contact. Gray orbs widened at the sight of the demon approaching, and Meg had to smirk as Winters beat a hasty retreat towards the corridor, bumping into and nearly tripping over one of the maids as she did so.

Too easy.

Sabra glanced up from her untouched glass of champagne as Meg sauntered past her, "Well _someone's_ on the war path." The demonic woman placed a well-manicured hand on Meg's shoulder and stopped her in her tracks, "So come on, tell me – who caught your eye?"

Meg was confused for the briefest moment before she pulled a wicked smile.

"Now let's not play coy." Sabra seemed highly pleased with herself that the hoity-toity Meg Masters had finally been brought low, "I have to know where to put my money."

"You put your money with _me_, Sabra." Meg cooed, raising her eyebrow knowingly as she continued past the demon, pausing only to whisper in her ear, "_I'm_ the eye-catcher, baby."

She didn't bother to turn at the amused laugh from her fellow demon.

Meg tracked Nate into the dimly-lit hallway, ignoring the couples already engaged in pleasure-seeking at its most intense. Most likely they had been on their way to one of the many spare rooms but had decided that their lust superceded their modesty.

Meg followed the scent Winters left trailing carelessly through the air. The girl could deny it all she wanted, but her veins were chock-full of Winchester blood, and Meg knew the smell of it as well as she knew the taste of it – a liquid cord of copper wine that had the kick of a bottle of whiskey.

The trail stopped at the solid oak door of a bathroom. Meg rolled her eyes and kicked it in.

Sabra could bitch about it later.

Sure enough, Winters was knotting a rope to the heavy metal towelrack and threading it out the window. Meg was too delighted at finally having the little weasel all to herself to be disgusted at the cowardice.

"Nate Winters." She waved a finger and the battered door slammed shut behind her.

Nate froze before gradually straightening and letting the rope slip to the tiled floor beneath her boots.

"You know, I thought your _dad_ was dumb and gutsy, but _you_?" Meg laughed and reached inside her jacket, her dainty hand producing a lethal-looking knife which she toyed with as she continued, "How you even have the nerve to show your _face_ after screwing me over is…"

The demon froze – and it wasn't voluntarily.

A stinging, burning realization scorched Meg as she followed Nate Winter's eyes up to the hastily-constructed devil's trap scrawled – in what appeared to be eyeliner – on the roof of Sabra's bathroom.

"…unbelievable." Meg finished her sentence before her jaw snapped shut.

"_Half_ my face." Winters was the one smiling now, much to Meg's complete and utter rage, "You know, not to monologue or anything, but you _really_ should start caring less what your little demon friends think. If I hadn't known for a fact you're such a proud-ass _bitch_, I would've been scared you'd bring Sabra along on our little girls-only bathroom run. But that's just my opinion."

"Alright, so you got me." Meg snarled coolly, "What're you gonna do? You gonna _exorcise_ me, Natey? Because I gotta warn you…I have a few tricks of my own."

"Yeah so I've heard." Nate's mouth twisted in irritation as she fumbled around in her belt pouch, "You'd think Sam was your biggest fan the way he carries on about you." She adopted a deep, mocking imitation voice as she continued, "'Meg's dangerous, she can rip a man apart with her bare hands, stay away if you know whats good for you'."

"Sound advice. Shoulda listened."

"Oh I listened." Nate produced a slim iPhone and held it up, "Mostly to this. See if I got it right, would ya? My Latin's a little rusty."

Before Meg could speak, Nate's thumb hit a button, and an exorcism ritual recited by herself began to play…

At double-speed.

Meg's head jerked violently from one side to other and she was tossed like a rag doll, bouncing off the walls of the devil's trap, unable to regain control long enough to launch a counter-attack.

Barely thirty seconds had passed before the demon was torn with an ear-splitting scream from her vessel, plummeting through the floor in a cloud of black smoke that left scorch marks on the tiles.

Nate pressed the stop button on the phone and nodded to herself, "Yep - I _knew_ my Latin didn't suck."

* * *

Dean pulled up the handbrake on the car before he leapt out, muttering inwardly about Sam's inability to retain a cool head at the moment. They'd already ran three red lights, nearly died twice, pissed off a traffic cop which they'd then had to lose, and smashed off a side-view mirror during said chase of cat-and-mouse when Sam had grazed a concrete lorry on a dangerous hairpin curve.

It was all Dean could do to keep up with his 'idjit' brother as Sam's long legs propelled him across the street to the backside of Sabra's glitzy penthouse building. Both brothers were packing, though neither had drawn as the back street, though practically deserted, still sported a mean array of security cameras that angled nosily down from the street lights.

"It's ten past five. Where the hell is she?" Sam's breath billowed out in frustrated huffs before him as he counted windows up to the fifteenth and final floor where multi-colored lights were twinkling.

"I dunno, man. We were late – maybe she zipped back to your motel or something." Dean did his best to placate his irate brother, but his own spidey-sense was tingling.

Sam's face set determinedly, "I'm going in." He began to move forward when a hand shoved firmly against his shoulder.

"Hold up, Rambo!" Dean sometimes wished Sammy would be a little less predictable when he was wound up – it would make things more interesting…and possibly, less difficult too, "Let's give 'er a minute, alright?"

"Dean, she's in there with Meg and Sabra and god knows how many other demons!" Sam protested, "This is _Nate_ we're talking about here. She's not a hunter; she has no idea what she's up against!"

Dean raised his eyebrows, cleared his throat and pressed his lips together tightly.

Sam frowned viciously, "What?"

"She's…uh…yeah." The older Winchester merely pointed upwards, and Sam turned, following his gaze up to the fifteenth story window – from which a slender, dark-clad figure was descending ungracefully by means of a long rope.

Dean cleared his throat again as Sam's mouth fell open slightly in total disbelief, "Pretty sure that's not Meg…or Sabra. I think they'd, you know…take the elevator…"

"Dean, shut up."

"Yeah okay."

The brothers watched incredulously as Nate finished her clumsy descent (she nearly fell twice, the second time smacking hard against a concrete window ledge and both times nearly sending them into cardiac arrest). Sam, being the taller of the two, was there to grip Nate's slender waist tightly and lower her to the ground when it became apparent the rope was about ten feet too short.

She had the nerve to sound annoyed, "What took you so long? I had to pretend to be a severely constipated Meg _three_ times just to get those drunken douchebags to stop knocking!"

"Okay, _what_?" Dean's face scrunched into confusion, but Sam had already wrapped giant, deadly hands around Nate's shoulders and proceeded to haul her to face him until her toes were barely grazing the ground.

"What the _hell_ was that?" He fairly yelled, "You pitch this whole 'let's take Meg together' spiel and then you knock me out and ditch me?"

"That was _your_ spiel, and I _drugged_ you – get your facts straight!" Nate hissed, "Now can you shut up and put me down? We've got about _five_ minutes before someone breaks that bathroom door down and finds Meg's human handbag passed out on the floor!"

"What are you talking about? What'd you do to Meg?" Dean queried cautiously as Sam, still breathing veritable fire through flared nostrils, lowered Nate to her feet and instead began dragging her towards the car.

"Exorcised her. Sam! Ease up!" Nate almost tripped on the gravely paving as the three of them made it to the car.

"_You_ excorised _Meg_." Dean hardly found it credible, and he wasn't to be blamed. Meg's extensive bag of tricks had seen her crack a Devil's Trap in two on numerous occasions.

"I'm a speed-reader…seriously, Sam, all the yanking in the world isn't gonna cool your scorched ego…" Nate stopped short in her scathing attack on Sam as Castiel appeared in the backseat of the car.

"Get in. You don't have much time." The archangel, who usually refrained from sparing more than a caustic frown of disapproval at Nate Winters, was full-on glaring at her as the ragged group of Winchesters piled into the hatchback, with Dean at the wheel (Sam had attempted to take the front seat, but Dean had assessed his brother's heated state and beat him to it), Sam in the shotgun seat and an extremely uncomfortable Nate forced to share the backseat with an irate Castiel.

"Dean, floor it!" Castiel insisted, and the angel's uncharacteristic choice of wording prompted eyebrow-raises from all three of the car's occupants. Dean, however, spying several stocky men in tuxedos running at full throttle towards their car, needed no further prompting.

The speedometer needle flew from zero to one hundred in under seven seconds (a personal best for Dean, but he refrained from bragging). The brothers lurched sharply against their seatbelts.

Castiel remained turgidly, almost stubbornly motionless.

Nate went flying, smacked her nose against the headrest of Dean's seat, and fell back in place again with blood streaming from her nostrils.

"Jesus, Nate, do you have a fucking deathwish?"

"Sam…"

"She has a fucking deathwish, Dean, either that or she's allergic to seatbelts!"

"_Shut_ up, Sam…"

"Do you have any idea what is about to come crashing down on your heads?" Castiel cut off the rest of Nate's verbal assault, "You should have dealt with Meg quietly instead of exposing youselves in such a manner!"

"In case you hadn't noticed, we weren't exactly in the know either!" Dean groused, "Demons?"

"Angels!" Castiel snapped, "Under orders to kill _her_ and take _you_ into custody!"

"Haters gonna hate." Nate muttered from between her hands.

"We need to get to Montana." Castiel bristled onwards, "Meg's out of the picture for the time being. Now's our chance to smash whatever progress she has made once and for all."

"We?" Dean raised his eyebrows in the rearview mirror at the archangel, "You comin' along?"

Sam mirrored Dean's expression, training sharp hazel eyes on their friend.

Castiel shifted uncomfortably before he spoke with what was almost resentment in his tone, "It appears I have no choice."

Dean's eyebrows rose higher, "No one's twisting your arm…"

"I don't trust the two of you alone with…certain individuals." Here Castiel emphazised the last two words of his sentence and looked pointedly in the opposite direction of Nate – who rolled her eyes.

"Someone give Asstiel here a few pointers on _tact_…"

"Shut up." Sam's scathing put-down reminded the entire car that the younger Winchester was still a boiling mass of anger after Nate's latest stunt.

In a churlish response, his daughter kicked the back of his seat but made no further remark. It probably had something to do with the murderous tone of Sam's voice or his infamous locked jaw of pending doom.

"Alright, _enough_!" Dean turned at the hollow thud and Sam's resulting jolt forward, "I swear to God, if we weren't on the run from the newest bad guys in town, I would pull this rattlecan over and dump all three of you on curb!"

"Us?" Castiel exploded with righteous indignation, his tone mirroring Sam's expression, "None of this would have happened if Nate hadn't…"

"Alright, alright, I get it, you're a saint." Dean wearily waved away Castiel's bombardment of fresh arguments.

"Actually, I'm ranked higher than a saint," Castiel informed him snootily, "A saint being an individual who has in fact lived on earth and attained to certain…"

Dean's heated glare caught the angel's eyes in the rearview mirror, and Castiel sighed.

"I believe that yellow 'M' represents a food purchasing outlet. It seems you all could use some sustenance at this point." He poked a finger at the McDonald's arrow as they pulled up to a stoplight.

"If only Happy Meals actually lightened moods," Nate muttered as she stared out the window, "Sam could use a hundred."

"I said shut UP!"


	20. Chapter 20

_**As always, it's been ages, blahdiblah. Life's kicking butt but nobody cares. If my meager offerings are still of any literary interest, here they are! ;)**_

_**- Tyler**_

* * *

"This burger sucks." Dean dropped the Big Mac he'd ordered (one of them, since he'd ordered three) onto the tray in contempt.

"Should've ordered the Continental Breakfast." Nate grumbled, poking at the foam-like pancakes in front of her, "It's to die for – literally."

"Because pancakes are so much deadlier than cirhossis." Sam was no longer jetting steam from his every pore, but his quiet, surly manner was no less obvious (or irritating). Just the fact that he'd publicly humiliated his daughter by telling the waitress to ignore her order of a bacon burger and forced Nate to go with a lower-cholestrol option was in itself a teller as to his current amount of fucks to be given just then.

Nate threw down the plastic fork and leant forward, "You know what else is deadlier than cirhossis?"

"Enough of this." Castiel, on the other hand, had successfully recovered his cool, and was consequently stepping into Archangel Mode – also known as over Unbearably Righteous Dictator mode, apparently.

"We must put aside our petty differences and unite behind the common goal of bringing Meg down, before she succeeds in any further progress." Here he turned to Dean, "Montana is a 16 hour drive from Las Vegas. Time is slipping even faster through the hole created by…"

"Get to the point." Dean's scowl suggested he was less than pleased by Castiel's (possibly unintended) attempt at stirring up trouble yet again.

"Sam and I have certain…abilities." Castiel cast a hesitant glance at the younger Winchester, who looked uncomfortable for a moment, "If we worked together we could make a scouting trip and locate Meg's…"

"We're not splitting up." Dean stated matter-of-factly.

"Dean, he's right." Sam spoke up, abandoning any pretence he had been making to poke at his food for his older brother's appeasement, "We'd cover more ground. Besides, if Cas and I are sniffing out Meg, that leaves you some time to check in on Ben and Lisa."

"Uh huh, nice move there, Sammy - throw in the _family_ card." Dean smiled acidly, the wrinkles at the edges of his bright green eyes furrowing pleasantly, "Not happening."

"Fine, so come with us." Sam raised his eyebrows casually, leaning back in the sparse metal frame of the chair. "Cas was just trying to spare you the trip."

"Right, and leave Lisa to babysit _two_ adolescent flight-risks?" Here Dean paused and cast a brief glance at his neice, "No offence."

"I doubt that." Nate hissed between clenched teeth and a plastic smile, "But you know what? Because I'm the bigger person…well…character-wise, I mean you're lugging all that middle-aged spread – it happens when you're pushing _forty_…"

"As it so happens," Castiel interrupted the young girl's gnarly counterstrike, "I have a strong inclination that Winters should accompany us." The incredulous expressions on both the brother's faces did nothing to deter the angel from continuing, "She does boast of a certain…secret identity, after all." He cocked his head sardonically in Nate's direction, "Perhaps our hunt would be considerably aided if _Future Intel Girl_ came along for the ride."

Everyone was floored. Nate included – though she recovered quicker than Sam and Dean, flushing a slight shade of pink even as she met Castiel's eyes staunchly.

"I see the voice of reason has finally joined the party."

"You on board with this?" Dean leaned in to whisper to his brother as Castiel and Nate began to exchange banter on a civil level for the first time in history.

"I have no idea." Sam looked worried, and as always this prompted Dean to look worried in return.

"At least you can keep a closer eye on her."

"Dean, Nate doesn't need an eye – she needs a muzzle and a leash!"

"Which is where Cas comes in." Dean nodded at the angel, "Look, what if Nate knows something that could help? I mean, it's better than flying blind, am I right?"

"I guess." Sam replied uneasily, his eyes trained on his daughter as she horrified Castiel with some morbid strategy demonstration that involved a salt shaker impaled on her plastic fork, "I dunno, Dean. It's like she brings out the _worst_ in me – all the anger, all the darkness I've had buried since Ruby…it's like she _wants_ me to snap."

"Sam, I don't think even _Nate_ knows what she _wants_." Dean contemplated the concept for a moment as they watched what any uninformed passerby would have taken for a malnourished, quasi-goth young woman with a light in her eye, "But whatever it is, I'll bet my last buck it's something that involves Skandar – something big and ugly."

Sam had no reply for his brother. His own insides recoiled as they touched the hot cinders of Nate's encounter with Skandar; her bruises and welts, the asinine resilience with which she had insisted that Sam butt out and the blatant lies she had told to cover for the demon which allegedly was out to skewer her mother.

Sam watched his daughter, the sinister wrenching in his hunter's gut screaming hoarsely at him that this Skandar – the Incubus – had torn into Nate, and that neither one would stop until the other was bleeding out in a basement.

Sam would be damned before it was Nate.

* * *

The forest was dark and deserted – a poignant tribute to dime-a-dozen horror flicks the world over. The trees creaked and swayed dozily in the cold night breeze, their branches groaning eerily as they cast shadows across the moonlit turf. A lone howl, followed by muffled grunts and scurrying, echoed through the night.

And always, the steadfast rushing of the ice-cold torrents that were the namesake of Great Falls could be heard in the distance.

A pinecone crunched underneath a clumsy bootfall, and both Castiel and Sam turned, chests drawn in with air ready to spill out in anger. They both released it with relief instead as Nate gingerly removed her boot from the offending item.

"Oh, what?" The young girl muttered her breath, "You think Alvin the Chipmunk is gonna scurry back to Meg with the _scoop_?"

"Be quiet." Cas snapped, blue eyes scanning the soil in front of them as he spoke, "I believe I have located Meg's lair." Kneeling down, the angel swept his palm across a section of thick, rich dirt. It moved aside to form a compliant pile to his left as Sam and Nate drew closer, both totting weapons and eyeing the discovery with something akin to curiosity – though it was far more intense,

An old grate, rusty and derelict, had been revealed by Castiel's succinct excavation. He spared hardly a moment before he reached out both hands and clasped the handle firmly, twisting with celestial strength and precision.

Not only did the grate refuse to budge an inch, but Cas snatched his hands away with an uncharacteristic yelp.

Sam caught him by the shoulders as the angel tumbled backwards, "You okay?"

Castiel examined his palms; they were still twitching with the aftershock, "I'm fine. Meg has taken full precautions. Those unusual symbols on the grate – they were a rare and very powerful angelic repellent charm. I am powerless against them."

Sam nodded, "Wait here." He moved to loom over the grate, long legs crouching in faded jeans as he placed both hands on the knob. Sam threw the full weight of his strength, both mortal and supernatural, into the twist, but despite his best efforts, the handle remained staunchly in place.

Breath quickening from exertion, Sam straightened from his crouch to rest both hands on his knees, "It's not budging, that's for sure. Whatever spells Meg cooked up for this, she did a damn good job."

"Ugh, amateurs." Nate spoke up from her corner as she moved towards the grate, "Hold this." She extended her handgun (neither Sam nor Castiel had deemed her trustworthy enough to shoulder a rifle or a shotgun) to her father, who took it with a bemused expression.

Nate spread her legs confidently and stared down the grate with all the bravado of a gunslinger.

"Open Sesame!"

"Move." Sam shoved her rudely aside, not even remotely impressed by the attempt at humour.

"Well it was about as bright as _your_ ideas!" Nate defended herself in a sour tone as Sam knelt down and continued to study the inscriptions on the grate with a notably darker expression, "I can't believe you two coonheads thought Meg wasn't gonna '_everything_-proof' her little hideout!"

"Yeah well until you can come up with a better plan, how about shutting up?" Sam traced his fingertips across one particular Latin warding spell. He might've seen something like it in his father's journal at one point in time…

"Whatever. Hand me back my gun, would you?"

"No."

Nate's incessant snarking was beginning to seriously set both Sam and Castiel on edge.

"Perhaps if we were to draw out Meg's guard detail…" Began the angel determinedly.

"We could use the diversion to slip at least one of us in there and scout it out." Sam finished the thought and both men nodded their approval at the plan, "It's our best shot at this point."

"It will have to be you, Sam." Castiel stated with a tone that suggested he was most displeased at the notion, "Even if I could miraculously get past the grate, there would no doubt be a dozen more angel-repellent wards to meet me inside."

"Right – I'll be in and out in five minutes, seven at the most. We rendezvous back at the car in exactly ten minutes…"

The sharp and sudden clap of shotgun fire a few meters off had Sam diving to the ground and shoving Castiel down in the process. They both glanced around, bewildered, with Sam's hand groping into vacant air as he scanned for the source of the noise.

He quickly turned to cast a glance at the shadows behind them where he had done a clean sweep and come up empty, "Where's Nate?"

Castiel spat out a cluster of leaves and wiped the accompanying mud smear from his mouth, "Where do you _think_?"

The slim silhouette of Nate Winters came bounding from behind a set of trees a good ten yards off from the trapdoor. The weapon she was aiming at an oncoming adversary dwarfed the slight girl – not that Nate's aim needed any help with barrel-scraping accuracy. Her shot glanced off a nearby tree, completely missing the large demon and achieving little more than a shower of bark and shrieking wildlife.

"Where'd she get the shotgun?" Castiel mused in befuddlement, and Sam's return glare pointed to the angel's empty hands.

"Naturally." Castile huffed. Sam was already scrambling to take aim at the demons on Nate's trail, and was about to squeeze his trigger finger when Castiel slammed the barrel of his shotgun down.

"Wait."

"Are you kidding?"

The squeak of the charm-protected grate being opened was the reason Castiel had stayed Sam's hand. The two ducked low behind their makeshift trench of a rotting log as out from Meg's lair leapt another beefy specimen – no doubt drawn from hiding by Nate's kamikaze routine.

"Quickly!" Castiel urged, giving Sam a determined shove towards the open grate, "I'll cover Nate. Now's your chance!"

"I'm not leaving her…." Sam's protest trailed off into an unceremonious yelp as the arch angel tossed him like a beanbag down the trapdoor.

"I'm sorry, Sam, but yes you are." Castiel's tone was less than contrite, although that hardly mattered considering the angel was the only one who heard the half-baked apology.

Sam was on his feet only seconds after hitting the dank floor of Meg's lair, eyes barrelling upwards angrily as the step ladder was unceremoniously hauled out of reach.

"Cas!" He pounded against the thick metal walls, jaw set in a temper, but predictably, there was no reply.

Sam buffeted the side of his fist against the wall in one final expression of ire before he turned his attention to his surroundings.

The air was oppressive and thick. A faint orange glow pulsated from various kerosene lamps, projecting a deceptive warmth around the otherwise freezing, gloomy pit.

A little recon turned the place up mostly empty at first, with arched, moldy walls and droplets of ice-cold stream water trickling from the ceiling. It was only after Sam rounded one particular corner that he struck gold – or more correctly, Croatoan.

Narrowing his eyes, Sam approached the mixing table with caution. A set of tubes crisscrossed in jumbled highways through sets of conspicuous glazed bottles, and Sam shone his flashlight to illuminate one of the many labels indicating their contents.

A scuffle made him straighten, spine flattening and gun rising quickly in tandem.

The den remained silent for a full minute, and Sam eventually returned his attention to the mixing table. Digging into the deep pockets of his jacket, the hunter proceeded to arrange the explosives he had brought along for the ride.

Sam had just finished laying the final charge when he was jumped from behind. The spindly arm that wrapped around his neck was as thin and as deadly as razor wire, and thrash as he would, Sam found himself unable to break free.

"Hello, Sam." The voice that hissed between exerted breaths was clearly male.

_I shoulda known there'd be three of you_. Sam cursed himself as he struggled with Meg's third (and apparently, most vicious) watchdog. _There's always freakin' three of you. _

"We've been expecting you, Winchester." The demon's vessel sported sandy, close-cropped hair and high, chiselled cheekbones, black eyes gleaming in their sockets, "Though I gotta say, I'm surprised you brought the little bitch along for the ride – after what she did to Meg, that tramp's got a fat prize on her head!"

Sam's sardonic scoff came out resembling a strangled warble, "What's new?"

* * *

Castiel had wasted little time in (grudgingly) fulfilling his promise to Sam.

Sharp blue eyes glanced up furtively as he leapt into action, tracking the erratic movements of Sam's prodigal lust-child (an unusual term for Castiel to adopt, but it had come straight from the horse's mouth….said horse being Nate).

Nate had led the demons about ten meters away from Meg's lair and had proceeded to go incognito. Castiel reached out invisible feelers, groping through what were normally clear frequencies to find the warbled static that was Nate Winters. Oplexicon's charms had hidden her from his sight, but Castiel had other tricks up his sleeve – tricks that hadn't until now become necessary.

It was like sludging through thigh-high mud, but Castiel eventually located a faint signal.

He wasn't the only one.

"Winters!" The snarl was glutteral, heavy, and bounced dramatically off the surrounding trees, "We can smell you, you know!"

Castiel ducked behind a thick pine, ears pricked to the oncoming troupe of demons that tramped noisily through the woodland.

"That rank, musky stench." The lead demon, a tall, butch man with a square jaw and a crooked smile, continued to speak at the air as they walked, "Can you smell it, Grant?"

"Oh I can smell it." His companion sneered as he gave the air a wicked sniff, "I know that pong – it's Winchester."

Castiel felt a sudden, noticeable rippling through the murky air. He felt anger, tense and rabid.

Nate was falling right into the demons' laps.

"Oh that's Winchester blood alright. Can't miss a reek like that. " The butch demon picked up the tempo, stalking closer to the source of the anger beginning to boil. Castiel wondered whether he could sense Nate's growing ire, or whether he was hazarding a guess.

Either way, the faint scuff of a boot nearly slipping from a branch quickly became the deciding factor.

The demons leapt, legs bounding like inverted kangaroos towards the source of the sound. The heavy note of a single gunshot rang out, and the leading demon was flung backwards mid-air as his chest was shredded by the hefty rifle Nate had stolen.

Castiel was already intercepting the path of the second demon, colliding with the heavy-set body his opponent was wearing and sending them both tumbling to the forest floor. A small struggle ensued, ending with Castiel's palm slammed against the demon's forehead and a sharp light pulsing through the air.

Castiel fell back on his haunches, wiping absently at a trickle of blood from where the demon had headbutted his nose. A dull, sickening thud repeating itself brought the angle's attention to several yards over, and Castiel hastened to salvage Nate before the second demon tore her to ribbons.

The scene he approached was enough to knock the wind from Castiel a second time. Not only had Nate somehow overpowered the enormous demon, but it seemed she had long since rendered the body he was riding utterly useless by slamming the butt of her rifle into its skull…

Again. And again. And Again.

Castiel took stock of the bloody pulp, which was fast becoming unrecognisable as having once been any kind of skull, and then glanced up at Nate's reddened face as she continued, clearly exhausted yet fuelled by some invisible purpose. Sweat streamed down her temples and her chest heaved, yet the determination in her clear grey eyes spoke volumes.

"Nate." Castiel interjected hesitantly, and the girl abruptly stopped, arms trembling from exhertion as they flopped by her sides.

Nate's panting was the only sound rivalling the forest birds for a minute as she attempted to recover under the calculated gaze of the archangel. Finally she straightened, albeit with a grimace that didn't go unnoticed by Castiel, though he elected to say nothing in light of the young woman's plethora of new cuts and bruises. Sam would notice – and Nate was _Sam's_ problem, not his.

"I," Nate was still breathing heavily, though her eyes flared with a vigorous hatred as she swung a limp kick at the body in the leaves, "am _not_ a Winchester."

* * *

Sam had managed to flip the demon over his shoulder after a lengthy struggle and scrambled to his feet. The early morning dawn was creeping through holes in the earthy roof, cautiously daring to highlight pockets of shadow which would otherwise have served as suitable ambush points for either Sam or his opponent.

As it was, both men circled each other, each sporting a set of eyes that watched relentless for a weak spot, a moment to strike.

The demon flashed a wicked smile, feinted left and then darted rapidly to the right, ducking under the fist Sam swung and planting a slug of his own into the hunter's solar plexus. Breath flew from Sam's lungs, but it didn't stop him from blocking the demon's next swing and smashing a heavy fist into his face. Blood spurted from the demon's mouth and he stumbled, faltering under the almost ethereal force of Sam's strength long enough for Sam to sieze the window he had been looking for.

Another two slugs and the wiry body the demon had possessed was knocked to the ground. Wasting no time, Sam snatched the nearest weighty object he could get his hands on – one of Meg's canisters – and pummelled the demon across the head.

His assailant went limp, and Sam straightened, huffing at the stale air in an attempt to catch his breath. A sticky trickle of blood oozed in a puddle around the body on the floor, and Sam felt a pang of regret at the bitter knowledge that the moment Meg's henchman decided to bail on his meatsuit, whoever he was riding would be toast.

Sam backed into the grate's view as sunrise flooded the dark burrow. Squinting against the light, Sam made out Castiel's frame crouched low over the entranceway. As his eyes adjusted, it became evident to Sam that the archangel sported an impatient frown.

"We must hurry. Did you set the charges?"

"Is Nate alright?"

Castiel's lips tightened in a manner that did not reassure Sam in the least, but the angel nodded.

"She's fine. The demons are slain, but it will not be long before more are upon us. Here." Cas extended a hand, and Sam hesitated a low moan rose from the floor a few feet away.

He glanced up at the angel, "You got an extra hand?"


	21. Chapter 21

_**Okay people, here's the deal; I see all the follower notifications, the faves, everything. It all comes to my inbox, so I know you all are reading this! But where are my reviews? Where is the love :(? The constructive feedback? This relationship feels a little one-sided, people! Please leave a review after reading this. Let me know what you think, the good, the bad, and the ugly! You'd want ME to, if this were your fic, no? So pay it forward :(**_

_**- Tyler xxx**_

* * *

Dean's green eyes, brilliant and wary, glared sharply at the thin, hunched figure in the back of his precious Impala. Even hooded with an impromptu Devil's trap scrawled across the broad shoulders of Sam's jacket, wrists fastened firmly behind him, Meg's henchman was giving him the shivers.

"Seriously, Sam – worst idea _ever_." Dean's grumbling goes all but ignored by his brother, who insisted on Dean hauling ass all the way out to the middle of nowhereville, Montana, only to further insist he let his precious baby lug a demon all the way back home.

Sam, who, along with Castiel, presented the human vanguard sandwiching the demon in place in the backseat, rolls his eyes.

"Dean, he has valuable information. It would've been stupid _not_ to bring him."

"Information on what? Meg's back in the Pit; her Croatoan nest's gone up in smoke – what exactly is he supposed to tell us that we don't already know?" Dean's tired. Bone tired. And cold to boot.

He suspected it could have something to do with the invisible layer of sharp-pronged icicles Nate has been wearing since he picked them up. He could almost feel the ice-cold waves of anger rolling off the kid from her position in the shotgun seat beside him.

"Look, we'll just take him back to Bobby's and find out what he knows." Sam reasoned, "It can't hurt."

"Oh it _can_, Sam." Dean informed his brother tersely, "See, last time I had a hooded demon in my car, it was _Riley_. And we all remember how well _that_ little venture turned out."

A tense silence followed.

"Was that the demon who Sam let cosy up to him in college?" Nate's voice was hoarse, and grated against the frail nerves of the car's occupants like sandpaper, "You know, the one who thought introducing poor innocent Jess to a Winchester would beat Daytime television?"

"This coming from the girl who rode an Archdemon back in time?" Dean's voice was a snarl, and he knew it. It couldn't be helped, though. Sam's face was enough to set off every Big Brother instinct Dean had inside him, "I don't think it gets _cosier_ than Oplexicon's hand up your ass, but uh, correct me if I'm wrong."

"Dean." Sam's voice was weary.

"Gee, Dean, I guess we should ask _Sam's_ opinion. I mean, he did put it all sorts of places back in the day," Nate's tone was pure malevolence, "Future crack whores, ex-witches, present-day demons…"

"Somebody make her stop." The visible whitening of Castiel's knuckles over the material of his trenchcoat suggested he was barely restraining himself.

"Stop the car." Nate's voice was panicked.

"What, so we can take it outside?" Dean floored the accelerator ever so slightly in a pointed denial of his niece's demand.

"If you don't want vomit on your leather, Dean, then pull the hell over!"

Dean promptly complied, and the passengers of the car lurched with its sharp swerve as he manouvered his precious baby onto the nearest hard shoulder.

Castiel grunted in disgust as the unconscious demon slumped against his shoulder, leaving a smeer of blood down the shoulder of his beige trench coat.

Sam was already angling his long body out of the Impala in pursuit of Nate, who had pitched herself at the backroad railing and was heaving violently.

Dean rolled his eyes, "Carsick, to boot. I swear, if there was ever a Poster Girl for Worst Family Traits…"

"Dean." Castiel had shoved the demon aside and was watching intently from the window, "I believe she is vomiting blood."

Sam reached Nate just in time to catch a glimpse of the thin tendril of blood she wiped from her mouth as she pushed off from the railing and turned to cast him a cold set of eyes.

"Thanks for making me eat Styrofoam back in Vegas."

"It's getting worse, isn't it?"

"I see your time in Standford wasn't a _total_ flop."

Nate's skin was pale and drenched a fine sheen of cold sweat, highlighting delicate branches of dark red veins that seemed to have sprung up across the side of neck and jawline in a matter of moments.

The icy resentment he had been harbouring over the incident with Meg abruptly melted in the flaming worry that scorched Sam's insides like a third-degree burn.

"You need a doctor."

"What I _need_," Nate raised her eyebrows, her hand shaking even as it ran across the remaining droplets of bloody mucous that clung to her snarling lips, "is for you to mind your own fucking business, once, just _once_, and focus on the job."

Sam wanted to throttle her. He resisted the urge.

"Look, you're no good to anyone dead!"

"I'm dead _anyway_, Sam!" Nate's voice actually quivered, her bravado wavering for the briefest of moments before she hauled her barriers back into place, "The _least_ you could do is not let it be for nothing – if you even _care_, that is!"

"If I _care_?" Sam's eyebrows shot up, and he was distinctly aware of concern replacing itself with gut-wrenching anger. He ground his teeth for a full minute before stabbing an index finger at the Impala, "Get in the car."

"Gladly." Nate's arms were folded tightly, almost protectively, across herself as she huffed by him.

Dean busied himself with intense examining of his steering wheel as Sam and Nate resumed their seats.

Castiel stared unabashedly at Nate as she shoved the unconscious demon onto his shoulder to clear her space again.

"You're dying."

"Cas!" Dean threw up his hands in despair.

"It's fine." Nate heaved an exasperated sigh of boredom as she cast shadowed gray eyes at the window beside her, "Can we just get out of here before George Clooney starts bleeding on my jacket?"

A muffled moan sounded from underneath Sam's jacket, and the hunched-over demon began to stir and tug against the iron chains binding his wrists.

"Someone whack him." Dean stated mercilessly as he pulled the Impala back onto the road.

"N…nobody whack me!" The frightened voice sounded suspiciously genuine from underneath its charmed, cotton prison, "Please! Look, my name is Damon Pierce, alright, a…a…and I _really_ need a doctor!"

Sam turned weary eyes on his brother. Dean glared.

"Really?"

Sam shrugged helplessly in response.

Dean rolled his eyes, "That's just great." He kept both hands clenched tighter to the steering wheel and raised his voice, "Hey Damon? Need you to hang in there, buddy. We're gonna get you some help; everything's gonna be fine."

"You are being possesed by a demon with intelligence we urgently require in order to save the world from certain ruin." Castiel twisted to address the man directly, "To capture him, it was necessary to inflict damage from which it's unlikely you'll recover…"

"Cas!" Dean barked, "I mean it, dude; I will Holy Oil you into the boot if you don't shut your trap!"

"A demon?" Pierce began to hyperventilate, writhing more frantically than ever in his seat, "Look, I don't know who you people are, but I swear my name is Damon Pierce. I live on West 42 Street in New York. I…I…I'm pre-med, for God's sake!"

"Ooh, a doctor." Nate purred, leaning forward and reaching her thin, nimble hand to tap Sam on the shoulder, "You hear that, Sam? Maybe he can help me with my little _problem_."

"Sam?" Pierce was still breathing in heaves, but he seemed to have tethered his anxiety for a moment, "Sam Winchester?"

"That's me." Sam craned his neck to get a better look at the man.

"Your brother…" Pierce seemed to be assimilating information at a rapid pace, "Dean. Is he here?"

"Who wants to know?"

"He's in danger!" Pierce sputtered, as though it cost him great effort, and the whites of his knuckles turned red as he strained against his bonds, "Meg Masters, she…"

A warbled choke was all that followed.

Dean raised his eyebrows, "She what?"

The car's three human occupants all recoiled in disgust at the cackle that Pierce emitted.

"I think my human handbag's said enough for one night, don't you?"

"_Now_ can we whack him?" Nate muttered between tightly-clenched teeth.

"Absoloutely." Dean responded as he returned his focus to the road.

"Hey, Hot Wings," Nate leant forward, past the demon between them, to raise her eyebrows matter-of-factly at Castiel, "That's your cue."

"Me?" Castiel seemed, for some unknown reason, to take offense.

"Believe me, I would do it if I could." Nate smiled icily.

Castiel stared flagrantly, "Is this an admission of weakness?"

"Okay, do I need to pull over?" Dean had reached the end of his newly-shortened tether and was ready to blow a keg.

Castiel complied with Nate's request.

* * *

"You made it back!" Bobby Singer raised his eyebrows at the bedraggled group as they dragged themselves through his front door.

"What the hell happened?"

"You're going to have to be more specific." Castiel, looking a little green after hours of cramped travelling beside Nate Winters and a demon with a pain fetish, all but stumbled over the threshold.

"We're fine; everyone's _fine_." Dean waved a dismissive hand, even as he used the other to firmly tug a tightly-restrained Pierce through the doorway, "Sam, you wanna take this one?"

"We nabbed one of Meg's henchmen for..."

"We?" Bobby demanded sceptically after an eyeroll from Dean and an indignant huff from Castiel.

Sam rolled his own eyes, "Fine. _I_ nabbed one of Meg's henchmen for questioning. After I blew up her underground lab and destroyed all her Croatoan. Any other questions?"

"Just what d'you plan to do when Meg shows up to take a collection?" Bobby unfolded arms he didn't even realized had been crossed to begin with as he followed the men through his living room and towards the staircase that led to the basement.

Dean turned a wide, vicious smile onto his little brother, "Sammy, you wanna take this one too?"

Sam's jaw clenched as a he handed Dean a look that clearly berated his immaturity before he took hold of Pierce's bicep and hauled him down the stairs.

"I'm just sayin', you may not have another chance to actually brag about your kid!" Dean yelled after him pettily, and Bobby narrowed his eyes.

"Who, Nate?"

"Yeah, it uh, it turns out she actually managed to _exorcise_ Meg. Nearly got herself ganked in the process, which of course _Sam's_ not too happy about." Dean explained with a weary neck rub as he surveyed the various hexes and charms lining the walls and roof, "Hey, are uh…" He prodded a finger in their directon, "those new?"

"Figured I might need'em what with all these new baddies coming out." Bobby ceded, "Speakin' of Nate, where is the little terror anyhow?"

"Went out like a light in the backseat." Dean threw a quick glance over the stair railing to confirm Sam and Castiel were thoroughly occupied with their task of securing Pierce to a chair beneath a Devil's Trap before he continued. "She's in bad shape, Bobby. Kid was puking blood the whole ride home."

A glimmer of what might've been concern – not necessarily for Nate as much as it was for Sam – flickered in Bobby's aging face, "Whaddya mean?"

"When she took that round of bucksalt, Sam had her checked out at the clinic." Dean buried his fists into the pockets of his jacket and clenched at the faded leather fabric inside, "Apparently Nate's got an advanced case of liver cirhossis – from alcohol abuse."

Bobby let out a low whistle, "I take it Sam's not too happy 'bout _that_ one either."

"Tell me about it." Dean grumbled, "Kid's not sayin' much but if you ask me…" He trailed off his sentence into a studious cough behind his palm as Sam reappeared at the head of the stairs.

"Okay," Sam heaved a large sigh and rubbed his hands together – hands that, both men noted, were smeared with dark, drying blood, "Pierce is jacked up in a Devil's Trap. I'm just gonna bring Nate inside and then we get started on the Q and A."

Bobby stole a sidelong glance at Dean, prompting Sam to furrow his eyebrows.

"What's going on?"

"Nothin'. Just…" Bobby waved a finger in the directon of the basement, "Gimme a heads up next time you wanna bring a _friend_ to dinner."

"I can assure you, he is no _friend_ of ours." Castiel appeared, still looking uncharacteristically bedraggled and actually clutching the stair rail for what almost seemed to be support, "And being candid, such a paradoxical comparison from _you_, Bobby, is surprising."

Bobby's eyebrows rose under the faded brim of his cap, but he made no effort to correct Castiel's remark. The angel looked to be on as short a tether as the rest of them at that moment.

Sam gave Cas a sympathetic clap on the shoulder before he disappeared.

Castiel frowned after his retreating form, "I should warn you, Dean." Here he turned, icy blue eyes focusing their gaze on the hunter in question, "If Nate does not receive help within the next few days, it is unlikely she will survive."

"Yeah well comments like'you are dying'," Here Dean momentarily adopted the angel's gravely tone of voice, "don't exactly help the situation, Captain Obvious! I mean, whatever happened to putting your angel mojo to actual _use_?"

"Hello?" A voice echoed up from beneath them, "Sam? Dean? Look I need help, okay? I'm bleeding and my head is spinning!"

Bobby rolled his eyes tiredly, "You're kiddin'."

"He's been at it for hours." Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, "Says his name is Damon Pierce. Some pre-med New Yorker; I honestly don't know where Megs finds these people."

"Well at the very least we should patch him up before we douse him in Holy Water!" Bobby turned to Castiel, "Angel Eyes, you're with me. Dean, make sure Sam doesn't put that squirt o' his anywhere near my books…or my beer, now you mention it."

Dean cracked a wry half-grin and opened his mouth, but was interrupted by the slam of the front door handle cracking against the plaster of Bobby's wall.

Sam loomed in the doorway, face set in not so much disbelief as incredulity.

"I'm gonna kill her."

"Lemme guess," Dean tilted his chin in a manner which suggested he was hardly expending effort, "Natey pulled another runner."

Sam flashed his brother a fierce warning glance in response before extending his palm, "Gimme your flashlight. I'm gonna do a sweep of the area – she can't have gone far."

"Relax!" A surly voice droned from directly behind Sam, and the broad man whirled around to find Nate standing at the bottom of the porch steps.

"Just went to get some air." Although her overall appearance still suggested failing health, Nate's pallor had given way to a slight improvement. She unfolded her arms as she side-stepped Sam and crossed the threshold into Bobby's house.

"Hmm, no anti-Nate charms. Are we finally turning over a new leaf, Bobby, or uh, are you just getting sloppy in old age?"

"Can it." Dean barked, approaching his niece with the same air of suspicion he used on his younger brother. His sharp green eyes lidded heavily as he squinted down at Nate, "Where the hell've you been?"

Nate's own brown orbs rolled affectedly, "It's getting a little hard to breathe with all the _smothering_; figured ten minutes of 'me' time wasn't too much to ask."

"Really?" Dean raised his eyebrows, "And uh…that explains the twig in your hair?"

It was only then that the room's occupants (Nate included) noticed that her raven tresses were askew and sporting the odd leaf and tree stem.

She brushed a palm over her scalp in irritation, "Why don't you save the interrogation for Meg's number two?"

Sam and Dean exchanged baffled expressions, "How do you know he's her number _two_?"

"Because I _killed_ her number _one_!" Nate snapped, scuffed boots stepping over a low-lying coffee table and allowing her to side-step the broad-shouldered Winchesters in her path, "Hey Castie!" She called as she headed down the stairs, "Feel like using those super wings to make a beer run?"

"I don't like it." Dean muttered in a low voice to his brother as he and Bobby leant in to clear the distance between themselves and Sam, "Where the hell'd she go?"

"No idea." Sam confessed.

"Well don't just stand there, ya idjit!" Bobby huffed in his typical no-nonsense fashion, "Go find out! All these years askin' questions and you're tellin' me you can't get a seventeen year old to spill the beans?"

Sam's brown eyes shot daggers, and Dean interjected with a heavy sigh.

"Look, right now we've got bigger fish to fry, alright? Let's find out Meg's next move before she pulls a jailbreak." He raised his eyebrows at Bobby, "We can play Twenty Questions with Natey when we're done."

Sam looked as though he were about to spontaneously combust.

Bobby let slip an obnoxious huff and stomped down the creaking stairs.

"Let's do this."

Dean eyed his brother earnestly, "Sam, you good?"

Sam flashed him a cold set of eyes in response.

Dean threw his hands up in frustration and headed after Bobby.

* * *

_Peak Mont, North Dakota_

Randy Smith, a bearded, beefy trucker wiped the last remnants of chicken grease from his mouth with the hem of his stained, plaid shirt. He hefted his jeans up hips that supported a sizeable gut as he strode onto the makeshift terrace of his Franklin trailer home.

"Randy!" The snarl coming from inside the trailer elicited an eye roll from the trucker as he squinted at the midday sun, tossing aside the empty beer can he had just drained.

"Randy!" The belligerent howl, decidedly female, sounded again, "Get in here! Somethin's happenin'!"

"Ugh!" Randy let slip a low growl as he fumbled through the hodgepodge of empty cans for a full one, "Lou-Anne, you're drunk!"

"Randy, I swear! The light's fritzing out again!"

The eyeroll appeared again, full of loathing and irritation. Randy was turning to head for the door when a sultry voice halted him in his tracks.

"Randy."

The trucker turned, slowly, his steps uncertain and wayward, as his bloodshot eyes took in the gaunt yet beautiful woman standing at the foot of his staircase.

Geri Winters wore an uncharacteristic smile, white teeth gleaming in an equally uncharacteristically well-groomed face. Her normally lank and dirty blonde hair was clean and elegantly curled around her shoulders, and the rust-colored leather jacket, white wife-beater, and dark grey skinny jeans she wore were a far cry from her usual baggy pyjama look.

In a word, she looked stunning.

"I was hoping I could borrow your pick-up for a day or two."

Randy blinked, stuttered an incoherent sentence, then titled his head.

"What for?"

Geri crossed her arms over her ample chest and climbed the steps to his porch, "Oh, just…visiting family. Nate's run off to her dad's, so I gotta haul her back before the school starts giving me hell about truancy." Her delicate nose wrinkled, "You know how they are."

"Sure do." Randy gulped at the cleavage curving from the dip in Geri's crop top, "Y'know, I'd uh, I'd love to lend you my baby, but uh, fact is she's in dire need of an oil change. It's gonna be a few days at least before she's road worthy."

Geri rolled her eyes, but her smile remained as she closed the last few feet between her and Randy until their faces were mere inches apart. His breath quickened as she eyed him up and down.

"Well I think…" She traced a finger along the length of his collarbone, "…we could juice it up a little right now."

Randy felt his jeans tighten, and his voice came out in husky waves, "Yeah…I guess that could…"

He froze as he felt his throat constrict. Geri's dainty hand closed around his neck.

"Less talk," The petite blonde hissed, her eyes flashing pure, deep black as her free hand fished into his jeans pocket and closed around the keys to his truck, "More walk."

Randy wheezed pathetically as the air left his body. He was tossed unceremoniously aside as Geri examined the keychain in her hand.

Her striking grey eyes filled with murky black as she clenched her palm shut.

"It's showtime."


	22. Chapter 22

Castiel removed his hand from Pierce's shoulder and cast an affirming nod at Dean.

"He is very fortunate. I've been able to heal his…" Here the angel turned on Sam, "_extensive_ injuries. Couldn't you have hit him someplace else?" Disapproval laced his tone.

Sam flashed him an annoyed expression as he unfolded his arms and threw his hands skyward, "You're right, Cas. If he'd only stood _still_!"

"Your sarcasm is hardly warranted. I merely made an observation."

"Yeah," Bobby raised his eyebrows callously, "a _stupid_ observation."

The naked bulbs flickered overhead, casting a plethora of writhing shadows on the peeling walls of Bobby's basement.

"As grateful as I am that Florence Nightingale here has been able to relieve this nasty headache I've been having to put up with," Pierce, dried blood caking the fair spikes of his hair and the stubble beginning to shadow his jawline, blinked bored black eyes in the direction of the angel, "it's going to take a slightly bigger show of good will if we're going to make _any_ headway."

"Good will?" Dean scoffed, dry amusement darkening his features as rolled up the sleeves of his cotton overshirt. An array of deadly instruments and a jar of holy water laced with rock salt found its way into Dean's palm, "See, the way I figure it, you kinda overshot 'good will' when you tried to kill my brother."

"Hand over Winters and you're free to go." Pierce cocked his head to the side, battered face set in a manner that denoted utter severity, "Call it a one-off. Meg's actually willing to ignore the fact you blew up her lab…_momentarily_. All you have to do is release Nate Winters into my custody and…" he shrugged, "…walk away."

"Forget it!" Sam snapped, but Dean held up a finger, silencing his brother as he moved to stand in front of the demon-possessed young man.

"Hold up a second; 'Meg's willing'?" He squinted in acerbic disbelief, "Meg's taking a lengthy Time Out in the Pit. How exactly are you getting your information?"

Pierce cracked his neck before straightening it once more, "Oh, _Meg's_ busted _out_! In fact," The demon licked Pierce's dry, cracked lips as he continued, "She should be here any minute now. Might wanna settle, Winchesters. This night's about to get _real_ messy."

Sam and Dean exchanged guarded expressions. Bobby looked grim and said nothing. Castiel vanished without warning.

* * *

"Nate!"

The call was inviting, desperate. It wafted in from the still night air, echoed off the doors of damaged cars huddled in the salvage yard.

A young woman, clutching her threadbare leather jacket around her as though it were a last bastin standing between her and death itself, peered shiftily out of the dusty window pane of Bobby's foyer.

Nate's breath, as cold as her insides were at that precise moment, still fogged up the glass before her as she leaned forward, grey eyes squinting at the svelte figure standing several meters away.

"Nate Winters, do not make me come in there!" Geri Winters yelled emphatically, her boot stomping against the dirt and stirring up a cloud in its wake.

Nate's quickened exhale left its own cloud against the window once again.

"We need to talk!"

Nate released her hold on the curtain and let it fall, starting back from the window as though it were electrically charged.

"It isn't her."

The voice that sounded behind her made her jump once again, but this time her nostrils flared in irritation as Nate recognized the voice of none other than Castiel.

Nate refused to acknowledge him with eye contact. Her grey orbs remained glued to the slight frame of her mother pacing impatiently outside the house.

"I know. Who is it?"

"Meg." Castiel informed her quietly, ignoring the blatant snub as he took his place beside her at the window, "Pierce told us she was on her way."

Nate sucked in her breath and turned away from the window, tugging on a string and letting the blinds fall across the apparition outside, "Here's the deal, Hot Wings." She turned to Castiel, jaw set stubbornly, "I'm going out there. You can either back me up or get the hell out of my face but what you _can't_ do is rat me out to Dean and Sam. Are we clear?"

Castiel's blue eyes narrowed as he placed himself between the lean girl and her path, "You are hardly in a position to dicatate…"

"Wrong answer." Nate produced a can of pepper spray and scalded Cas' eyes with a hefty dose. The angel stumbled backwards, hissing in pain as his human body reacted to the toxin. Nate seized the moment to shove past him and bolt for the door.

Her breath rolled out in short, smoky billows as she reached the spot where Geri (who had now vanished) had been standing. Nate's jaw locked and she swallowed furiously, reaching inside her jacket and pulling a lean handgun as she began to stalk cautiously through rows of salvaged cars.

"Mom?" Nate called, her voice trembling and pitchy and contrasting sharply with the deadliness in her eyes, "Where are you?"

The silence of the winter night was the only response Nate received, and she rolled her eyes, halting in her tracks beside a particularly beat-up Beatle and throwing open her arms.

"Let's _talk_!"

"You'd pull a gun on your own mother?" Geri's husky voice sang with disapproval as she stepped out from behind another decrepid rust-bucket. She raised an eyebrow, "Tsk, tsk."

"How'd you find me?" Nate lifted her chin warily as Geri drew closer, and her mother traced a newly-manicured fingernail across the hull of the filthy Volkswagen as she replied.

"Oh it wasn't too hard. I just…looked for your father. This always was an old haunt of his." Geri paused and glanced up, locking gray on gray as she caught Nate's gaze, "Oh that's right…I never told you. I knew all along where Sam was at. He left me his number in case of emergencies – as well as a few safehouses I could run to if the heat ever turned back on."

Nate wanted to reach for Meg's throat. She restrained herself.

It was difficult.

"Although I have to admit," Geri continued, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips, "I didn't expect my little girl would ever turn out quite like you."

"Yep, this is me." Nate shrugged and flapped her arms loosely at her sides in demonstration, "Surprise."

Geri tilted her head as she slowly trudged full-circle around Nate, eyes examining every inch of her daughter. Disdain was etched prominently in her face, "Figures you'd run to Sam first. You never could stop asking endless, irritating questions about the man. Though why you were always so interested in finding him when he'd made it clear to me he wanted nothing to do with you…" Geri's mock frown was anything but cute, "…well, I just don't get it, to be…" Her sentence was cut off by a shriek as water bolted from the muzzle of Nate's gun into Geri's face. Steam sizzled through the air around Geri's head as Meg writhed with pain inside of her.

Nate lowered her water gun as Meg stumbled back, hands clawing at her face and hissing.

"You know what your problem is, Meg?" Nate snapped, "You never know when to frigging stop."

Meg recovered her composure, breath heavy as she snarled a smile, "Guess that's another thing we have in common – along with your mommy here." She motioned to Geri's slender body, "Gotta say, you had me fooled."

" Oh no; something that we _don't_ have in common." Nate clutched at her heart, "This relationship is _never_ going work!"

Meg smiled, "Oh, I don't know, Winters. I mean," She ran a hand down the flat of Geri's abdomen, "I do have your mother. That's gotta count for _something_…or…" The demon's eyes flashed black, gleaming with possibility, "Maybe you don't _care_ if I waste her."

Nate rolled her eyes but the effect was promptly lost as she keeled over, hands slamming against the hood of the Beatle for support as she coughed up a lather of bloody mucous.

Meg watched with growing realization – and pleasure – as she edged closer to her incapacitated victim.

Nate's willowy frame shook like a leaf in the wind, threadlike spiderwebs of veins etched in red across her pale skin becoming visible in the moonlight.

Meg was fascinated.

"You're dying." The words rang with the ecstasy the demon was clearly experiencing at the knowledge, "Whatever's keeping you afloat isn't big enough to stop it, is it?"

Nate responded by whirling around and showering Meg with another dose of Holy Water from her water gun.

Meg screamed, lifted one hand to her face and the other into a fist as she struck Nate Winters across the jaw. Nate flew backwards, smashing into the headlights of a totalled Seat and crumpling into a heap of shattered glass.

Geri's hand, unnaturally strong and cold, gripped the young girl around the throat. Meg's eyes became liquid pools of ebony once more as she cut off Nate's oxygen with a wicked smile.

"I have to say…I am _really_ gonna enjoy this."

The demon was forced to release her hold as she was struck across the back of the head and her mortal body rendered unconscious.

"Me too." Dean tossed down the poker he had been sporting and stepped over Geri to support Nate's elbows as the girl attempted to stand while choking down air in large gulps.

"You okay?"

"M'fine." Nate muttered, but the beads of sweat across her hairline and the bleariness in her eyes dictated otherwise.

Dean gave his niece a once-over, "Yeah right."

"Dean?" The echo of Sam's voice bouncing off of tin hulls grew stronger.

Nate's eyes sharpened and she gripped Dean's arm with a fervent pleading, "You can't tell him."

Dean rolled his eyes and began to hoist Nate to her feet, but she clutched at him tighter.

"Please," She swallowed, her face young and desperate in the dim light of the night, "He can't know."

Dean knew that look. It was a mixture of fervor and certainty.

It was pure Winchester.

Sam was on the scene now, powerful hands all but wrenching Nate from Dean's grip. He helped her to her feet while checking her for injuries.

"Hey! Are you okay?"

Nate batted his hands away in irritation, "I'm fine."

"What the hell were you thinking?" Sam demanded, keeping a tight hold on her arm, as much to restrain her from leaving as to support her, "You know Meg wants you dead, yet you walk _right_ into her trap, on _purpose_!"

"You think we'd've stood a _chance_ of catching her if I hadn't?" Nate motioned to Geri's unconscious frame as Dean tossed a charmed gunnysack over her head and secured her wrists behind her back with iron handcuffs, "If Meg thought for even a _second_ I'd bring company, she would never have shown her face. Figured you all wouldn't be that far behind me, so yeah, I took the risk!"

"It was a _stupid_ risk!" Sam informed her tersely.

"Are there any other kind?"

"Hey, hey, _hey_!" Dean stepped between the pair as tension mounted once again, "Look, we got Meg, okay? That's the most important thing right now."

Sam scoffed to himself, although they both knew it was intended for his brother.

"Later, Sam." Dean warned him with a raise of his eyebrows before he gripped Geri underneath her shoulders, "Hey Cas, why don't you grab her ankles?"

"And be careful. Remember, that's Geri in there." Sam admonished as Castiel disdainfully picked up what he considered to be Meg's booted feet.

"You can accidentally bang her against a doorpost once or twice. I'll look away." Nate's breezy remark evoked shocked expressions all around.

The teenager shrugged with an unapologetic eyebrow raise, "Four words: druglord with a fetish."

* * *

Pierce looked up from where he had been staring abysmally at the ground as Dean and Cas carried Geri down the stairs. Sam hovered uncomfortably while Nate picked at her fingernails and looked bored, rolling her eyes at her father as Sam fussed at them to be careful.

"Who is that?" Pierce blinked as Castiel dragged a chair into the Devil's Trap alongside his own.

"None of your business." Dean informed him coolly as he positioned Geri's drooping body into a seated position and secured her hands behind her.

"Well it's _my_ business!" Bobby threw up his arms in exasperation, "What do I look like, the Demon Correctional Facility? Who's our latest inmate?"

"Meg." Dean knew his tone was just a little too smug as he completed his work and stepped out of the Devil's Trap.

Pierce was white with rage, "You're dead, Winchester!" He turned black eyes full of hate onto the rest of the party, "You're all dead!"

"I can assure you, we are very much alive." Castiel, as usual, missed the innuendo and turned on Dean with a serious expression, "I assume using the demon-slaying knife to end Meg's miserable and dangerous existence is the only course of action."

"Are you kidding?" Sam snapped a finger in the direction of the unconscious woman tied to the chair, "That's the mother of my child in there!"

"What?!" Bobby raised his eyebrows at Dean, who gave him a grim expression of affirmation, "You gotta be _kiddin'_ me. We finally have a chance to kill Meg once and for all, and you're tellin' me she's riding Geri Winters?"

"Wait a minute," Nate joined in as the situation quickly began to escalate, "I thought Sam's mojo meant he can _kill_ demons."

"That was before." Sam looked uncomfortable once again, "I'm nowhere near that strong anymore."

Nate shrugged agitatedly, "So let's open a tab on Number 2 here and juice you up!"

"No!" Sam stated sternly, "I'm not doing that anymore."

"Seriously?" Nate demanded between grit teeth, "You pick _now_ to grow a conscience?"

"The last time I drank demon blood, I was Lucifer's meatsuit." Sam explained with fraying patience, "I can't control myself – once I start drinking it, I won't stop!"

"Wow," Nate nodded, "yet another habit you and Geri have in common."

"Would you two idjits shut up?" Bobby commanded, "Looks like someone's decided to join the party."

Geri's head lifted, and her eyes flashed black as she took in her surroundings.

"Well, well, well." She turned her gaze on Pierce, who grovelled, "Someone's negotiation skills are a little rusty, to say the least." Her eyes returned to Geri's clear gray orbs as she tilted her head at Sam, "Sam…I would say 'long time, no see', but this woman's head is just _full_ of some nasty flashbacks I would _love_ to get rid of."

"Okay, ew!" Nate scrunched up her nose, "Seriously, put a filter on it!"

At the sight of Nate, Meg's face grew stormy. Her eyes flicked to Dean, "We both know how this is going to end, Dean. Just give me Winters and we'll call it even."

"Really?" Dean was amused, "That's awful generous, Meg – you know, considering we blew up your lab and killed all your minions..."

"And have you tied up in a Devil's Trap." Bobby added.

"Can't leave that one out." Dean acknowledged.

Meg scowled deeper.

Dean smiled an unpleasant grin.

"Fine. I'll shut up." Meg raised an eyebrow coolly, "In fact, I think I'll just go ahead and bite off Geri's _tongue_."

Sam started forward, jaw set and nostrils flared in an angry heave of breath. Nate's hand, comparatively miniature against the full width of his chest, pressed against Sam urgently.

"Easy, Rambo." Nate lowered her voice to a whisper and looked Sam knowingly in the eyes, "She's bluffing. You know it."

A throaty laugh pulled the attention back onto Geri as Meg took in the exchange between Sam and Nate, "Wow. Looks like she finally got under your skin, huh, Sammy?"

Nate rolled her eyes and said nothing, but she unconsciously took several steps and put space between herself and Sam once again.

"Why don't you just focus on bracing yourself for Hellfire?" The younger Winchester responded coldly.

Meg tilted her head, "Why don't _you_ focus on what you're gonna say to _Geri_ when I bring her out to play?"

Before Dean could blink, Meg had rolled back her eyes, and when her head abruptly shot forward, both Sam and Nate started at the low, soft groan and bleary gray eyes that came to the fore.

"Sam?"

The sudden trembling and sweaty sheen that overcame her frame dictated one simple fact:

Geri Winters had the floor.

* * *

The silence was tense and rabid, nipping at the heels of hunter and angel alike.

Castiel narrowed his eyes and turned, somewhat anxiously, to Dean for some signal of the correct behavioural protocol in their current situation – an action that afforded him no help whatsoever as Dean had adopted his run-of-the-mill, stern-looking poker face.

Castiel swallowed and followed suit.

"Where am I?" Geri, panicked and displaying all the signs of first-stage withdrawal, shifted wildly in her chair, lean arms tugging at her bonds, "Oh god….why am I handcuffed?"

"Oh, relax." Nate was the only one who seemed to be in control of herself – and, in true Nate form, niceities were apparently off the table, "Just pretend they're rubber bands."

"Who are you people?" Geri's gaze flew from person to person, stopping on Sam and widened as they did so, "Oh my god, it wasn't a dream, was it?"

"Geri, listen to me." Sam implored her urgently, stepping into the Devil's Trap and bowing his large torso down to her level, "You're being possessed by a demon. She's the reason you're tied up."

"Sam Winchester?" If Geri had heard his words, she made no attempt to acknowledge them, her face alight with what seemed to be unpleasant recognition, "Where the hell have _you_ been?"

Sam's mouth quirked humourlessly, "Trust me; you don't wanna know."

Geri scoffed, "Actually, I do! You see, last time we saw each other, you were promising me you'd come _back_, and _I_ was left to raise your hellspawn of a daughter while I _waited_!"

"Oh!" Pierce, who had remained sulking up until that point, chose to break his silence, "Hellspawn?! Now that's just being _mean_ – not even Satan's breath's as foul as Winters!"

"Nice." Nate crossed her arms over her chest and nudged Dean with her elbow, "Can't you just exorcise her and get it over with?"

"What's the matter? Afraid she's gonna spill all your dirty little secrets?" Dean muttered as Sam continued to exchange conversation with his former aficionado.

Nate gave her uncle a wry expression, gray eyes lidded and unfriendly, "Would you believe I gave Sammy Dearest the censored version? If you think he's guilt-ridden _now_, wait until the whole nine yards about Geri's 'parenting' values comes tumbling out!"

Dean watched his niece turn away and felt a sharp stab of sadness – as well as a pang of remorse for his constant mistrust and animosity towards her.

"So Geri, bet you're Jonesing for a tall, cool one, huh?" Nate yanked open the yellowing, dirty fridge Bobby kept in his basement, pulled out a beer, twisted off the top and took a long swig.

"Mmm. Like a gulp of liquid Heaven."

Right then and there, Dean's sympathy for Nate Winters shrivelled up and died as fast as it had sprouted.

"Who is this bitch?" Geri snapped at Sam, and as his eyes flickered momentarily in uncertainty, hers widened in understanding, "Nice, Sam. Guess you still like'em young, huh? What are you, pushing thirty?"

Bobby looked sidelong at Dean, "You know, I can't believe I'm sayin' this, but I almost preffered her when she was _Meg_."

Pierce, on the other hand, brightened at a chance to cause mayhem, "You mean you don't know who she is?"

He cackled in delight as Geri frowned irritably at the gruesome sound.

Nate's teeth clenched and she stepped forward. This time it was Sam's turn to halt her in her tracks.

"She's gonna find out sooner or later." He reasoned quietly with his daughter, "Better it comes from us."

"Are you kidding?" Nate barked under her breath, "I didn't even want _you_ finding out. You think I wanna add to Geri's crazy?"

"See, 'this bitch' here happens to be little Nate Winters, your own flesh and blood." Pierce had already broken the ice with a cheerful tone, "Back from the future to stop Sam and Dean from making several bad decisions. Or so she says." He tilted his head back and flashed Nate a bright grin of white teeth stained with flecks of red, "Personally I'd give her agenda more than a once-over if you ask me."

Geri's daintily freckled nostrils flared and she inhaled short spurts of air, tanned arms flexing against her bonds as she fought the nausea of their reality, "Is this true?" She demanded of Sam.

He grit his jaw and glared at Pierce. "Yes."

Geri's face became deadpan as she gave Nate a long, appraising stare. The silence in the room was thick and oppressive before she finally broke it.

"Well," Geri said quietly, "You could use a few pounds."

"Oh really?" Nate squinted, "Too bad a diet of Pop Tarts and beer dregs couldn't put some _junk_ in my trunk." The last few words were laced with the resentment the girl still clearly harboured towards her mother, regardless of how strongly she had defended Geri in the past.

"Still so needy." Geri rolled her eyes at Sam, categorically ignoring Nate once more, "Takes after you in that regard."

Nate slammed down her beer, grabbed Sam's bicep and pulled him aside.

"I don't care how you do it; just get Meg out of her. We're running out of time."

"What do you mean?" Sam wondered aloud, but his daughter was already storming off, her boots thudding angrily against the wooden flooring.

"Just get it done, Sam!"

The Winchester brothers exchanged heavy expressions and a doubtful eyebrow raise.

Geri blinked and in an instant Meg was steering the boat once more, "You know, for once I'd almost say we had a common enemy again. This bitch almost gives _me_ a run for my money."

"You should go check on Nate." Bobby murmured in a low voice to Sam, who was breathing heavily and curling his powerful hands into even deadlier fists, "We got this, son."

Dean moved out of Meg's earshot to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother, "Bobby's right, Sam. You should leave. We'll send Meg packing and then Cas can take Geri home." His green eyes were full of concern and he cut Sam off mid-protest, "You don't need to be here, man."

* * *

Sam found Nate in one of Bobby's derelict spare rooms on the second floor. The room was layered with a thick inch of untouched, pale dust from which the furniture had been spared by ample white sheets. Stacks of books lay littered about, and moonlight cheerfully illuminated the otherwise sparse and almost eerie room.

Nate had tied a dusty linen sheet between a hook in the wall where a heavy portrait had once been mounted and the sturdy frame of the four-poster guest bed. She lay, rocking absently with one boot tapping the floor, eyes gray as the moonbeams that stroked at the hollows in her face.

Sam thought she looked frail and luminescent, almost other-wordly with her palid complexion and waif-like, pixie frame.

It terrified him.

Nate didn't acknowledge him when he entered the room, or pulled up a chair beside her. She remained focused on the window pane, foot still rocking the makeshift hammock back and forth, back and forth.

"When I was little… _real_ little, like five years old," Nate's voice was faint, "I used to hate thunderstorms. _Hated_ them, I mean, they scared the shit out of me. Still do, actually."

Half a glimmer of a smile flashed at Sam's mouth for a moment. He threaded his fingers together and raised his eyebrows at them, "I know the feeling."

Nate blinked and made no response to the remark, simply picking up where she left off, "Anyway, we were still living with my grandparents, and they were dead set on me sleeping in my own room and not crawling into anyone's bed for 'a pity party' as they called it." Nate scoffed slightly to herself, "Geri…my mom…was different back then. She was still coherent enough to give a shit, and I think it really bothered her that she wasn't allowed to take me into bed with her. So," Nate's fingers tugged at the hem of the knotted sheet, "One night during a storn when I was begging and begging her to stay with me, she took the sheet off her bed and made me a hammock."

Sam was listening with every bone in his body, the significance of the deep secret his daughter was sharing making him hang intently on her every word as he leant forward and she continued.

"She told me that if I slept there, nothing bad would get at me, that I'd be fine." Nate's smile was wan and fleeting, but it had definitely been there, "And then she'd sing me 'Silent Lucidity'; she has a _really_ bad voice, I mean, goddawful," Here both Sam and Nate chuckled quietly, "but…it made me feel safe, all the same."

Sam examined the floor for a moment and a long moment of silence passed between then two before Nate broke it once again, tilting her head up to face him.

"What was she like?" She asked in a cracking voice, "Back when you knew her?"

"Um…" Sam cleared his throat and furrowed his eyebrows, "She was great." Nate's eyes shone as dewy as his own while he continued, "Smart. Funny. Just…full of life, you know? Full of hope."

Nate nodded and pulled in her lips, "I think she lost it all when she had me."

Sam's giant hand closed tightly over Nate's own, and the girl looked up in surprise at the ernest expression on the hunters face.

"Listen to me." Sam intoned severely, "It wasn't your fault. Me and Geri, _we_ made a mistake, yes. But people make mistakes the world over; it's how we _deal_ with it that defines who we are."

"I wish it was as easy to believe that as it is to say it."

Sam had to sigh at that one, "I know what you mean."

A malevolent shriek filled the air, long and lingering up from the floorboards of the room.

Nate tactfully retracted her hand from Sam's as she pulled it up to tuck her hair behind her ear, "Guess Meg's taken yet another all-expenses paid trip Down Under." Her eyes were cold again as they met with Sam's, "Do you think we should've killed her?"

"What?" Sam rose to his feet, horror etched on his features as he looked down at his daughter, "No."

"I didn't say 'we _should_ have'; I said '_should_ we have'!" Nate snapped, rolling her eyes before she kicked both feet over the side of the hammock and stood up, "God, you are such a self-righteous…"

"And I didn't say that I don't _hate_ what Geri did to you!" Sam had already moved between the girl and the exit, having had his fair share of experience with Nate's classic bolting manouvere, "I _do_. Okay? I get it. I'm your _father_!"

The word flew out of his mouth before Sam even really knew where it had come from. But it lingered awkwardly in the air between the pair, neither one fully ready to embrace the idea.

But it was no longer an idea. It was a reality that needed to be faced. And Sam had unwittingly dragged it, kicking and screaming, into the open.

A second cry, low-pitched and male echoed up throughthe floor. Pierce was himself again.

Sam felt anything _but_.

He took a breath, eyes closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing. Nate folded her arms and stared intently at the window pane.

"I just don't get it. After you fought so hard to keep Skandar from killing your mom…"

"Don't talk about Skandar, Sam." Nate's voice was a biting snarl.

"Why would you even _consider_ killing her to take out Meg?" Sam spread his arms, "Does revenge really mean that much to you?

"YES! Okay?" She finally yelled, and her eyebrows rose as she clawed at the air beside her head briefly, "It does! So sorry, once again, that I'm your _total_ polar opposite!"

Sam swallowed, his forehead set in stone as his hands dropped by his sides and loosened in defeat, "It's our similarities that are worrying me right now."

Nate finally looked him in the eye then, but made no reply.

A rap against the doorframe made them turn. Dean was filling the threshold with his robust hunter's stature, his troubled face suggesting he had witnessed more of the exchange between his brother and his niece than he'd cared to.

"So it's done." Dean cleared his throat after neither Sam or Nate made any attempt to break the ice, "Cas wiped Geri's memory and took her home. Pierce looks like he'll pull through."

"Good." Sam nodded, "That's, uh, that's good." He walked past Dean and through the doorway, "Let's all get some sleep."

Dean watched his brother leave with a look of concern before he turned back to Nate, who raised her eyebrows.

"What?"

He scowled, and she scoffed.

"_What_? God, Dean, just spit it out already!"

"Grab your coat. We're leaving in five."

"Really, and just where are _we_ going?" Nate followed him to the door as he moved to leave and snagged the crook of his arm to halt him in his tracks.

"The hospital." Dean leaned forward and lowered his voice, "Look, you asked me not to tell Sammy and I didn't. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna let you die on my watch. Now let's go."

"There's no _time_, Dean!" Nate protested in a frantic whisper, "You heard what Pierce said – Meg has a whole possy of demons who obviously have enough leverage between them to pull her out of the Pit. She won't be gone long and once she's back, it'll be that much harder to yank the roots off this thing."

"What're you talking about? I thought Sam blew up the lab." Dean frowned.

"Yeah. _One_ lab, but come on, since when has Meg _ever_ kept her eggs in one basket?" Nate glanced at movement from the hallway where Castiel was helping Pierce up the staircase, "Look, I say we find out everything Pierce can remember and then we make a run on Meg's team before she crawls back out of Hell."

"Great plan." Dean nodded, before he took Nate's arm and began to move.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To the hospital." The hunter informed her matter-of-factly as they reached her rucksack, "_We'll_ deal with Meg. You're no good to us dead." He slapped her jacket into her chest.

Nate tossed it aside impatiently, "Listen, HotRod, I'm on a contract here! If I don't take care of this thing personally, and I mean _real_ personally, Dean," Her eyebrows rose once more, "I'm _already_ dead."

Dean gave his niece long, heavy-lidded stare. She huffed out a breath and broke first, looking away and folding her arms.

"Winchesters. Damn it, Dean, you _know_ I'm right!"

"Fine." Dean ceded tersely as he pointed his index finger, "We'll do it your way, but when it's _done_…"

"Open-backed robe and scary vegan people." Nate lifted her hands in agreement, "Got it."

"Dean?" Castiel cut into the scene, his beige trenchcoat still stained with smears of dark, dried blood, "Pierce wishes to speak with you."

"Great." Nate rubbed her palms together and slapped her uncle on the back, "Let's go get'em, Tiger!"

Dean glared at her retreating frame as she cut a path in front of him, "I'm regretting this already."


	23. Chapter 23

_**Wow. I know. It's been AGES. Been cooking this up in bits and pieces but lots of other projects have been sort of squelching production. Anyway, the Tyler is back, kids! Enjoy and leave me some love ;)**_

* * *

Damon Pierce looked green and rather queasy, but the color was beginning to return to his cheeks, and he bolted to his feet as Dean, Nate and Castiel entered the kitchen (where the young man had been sat in front of several corn beef sandwiches, courtesy of Bobby).

"Thank God…"

"Take it easy, pal." Dean neared him just in time to reach out a steadying hand and prevent a suddenly dizzy Pierce from toppling over, "Why don't you sit down and get some grub in you, huh?"

"There's no _time_!" Pierce faily spat out the last word as he shoved Dean's hand aside, eyes wide and bloodshot with fear and exhaustion, "This _Meg_, she's got a Plan B strategy all lined up in case of emergencies. We've gotta hurry – it's already going down!" He scrambled to sidestep Dean, only to come against Nate….who promptly slapped him across the face.

The room buzzed with the static of stunned silence as all three men stared in disbelief at Nate. She widened her eyes unapologetically, "What? He was in shock!"

"Not until you up and slapped me out of nowhere, I wasn't!" Pierce hollered, his face darkening with a bloom of red to match the handprint on his cheek.

"Okay, _okay_!" Dean snapped, pinching at the bridge of his nose and ready to lose his temper. He hadn't slept in at least 24 hours, possibly more, and the strain was beginning to seep into his bones, "I swear I'm this close to smacking all _three_ of you." His mutter did not go undetected.

"I fail to see how any of this is _my_ fault." Castiel, of course, was the first to complain, "Not to mention the fact that…"

"Would you guys just _shut_ up and _listen_?" Damon Pierce slammed his fist onto the hardwood table of Bobby 's kitchen, and the sandwich plate rattled. Silence achieved for the moment, he continued, "I know where Meg's back-up base is at. They're gonna make a supply run tonight for some last minute additions before the virus goes airbone. Then there's no stopping it."

Castiel, Dean and Nate exchanged sober expressions. The latter nodded grimly at Pierce, "Don't tell me – Boulder?"

Pierce squinted and his fist curled around itself, "How did you know?"

"Relax." Dean clapped the youth on the shoulder as he passed him and headed to the fridge, "Natey here's on our side."

"Damn straight I am. Now let's suit up – we gotta hit the road." Nate was already shouldering her rucksack and heading for the door, "Dean! Let's go – no use sticking around and waking Sleeping Beauty."

"Um…" Pierce scratched at his scalp uncomfortably, "Does, uh, she mean Sam?" He received no reply from Dean other than having his elbow grabbed as the hunter led him towards the door, "Cuz, ah, we should probably tell him that…"

"Keep walking, Chachi." Dean ordered him with a curt shove. The young man complied with a stutter, heading after Winters, who was already striding towards the Impala.

He missed the troubled expression Dean cast back at the salvage yard before the hunter turned away.

* * *

Crowley looked up from where he had been examining the ancient book, a book which had become the source of so many woes, to the fluttering of wings.

He rolled his eyes.

"Castiel." The demon turned nonchalantly on his heels to face the angel that had appeared unceremoniously in the midst of his lair, "Fancy seeing you here - especially considering the fact that _Meg_ spent a great deal of effort to ensure that this rancid _hole_ was angel-proof."

Castiel grit his jaw and said nothing, raw, angry eyes taking in the group of humans standing listlessly in the center of the dingy basement room. The ten men and woman stared vacantly at their feet, but Castiel squinted at the sound of their heartbeats.

It was like a hundred wild horses thundering in the deep.

Understanding dawned. "They're infected."

"Nothing gets by you, does it?" Crowley retorted scornfully, sliding the book into a safety deposit box riddled with charms and swinging the wheel on the door as it slammed shut, "Me, on the other hand?" The crossroads demon raised his eyebrows as he paced, careful to remain out of the angel's reach, "A little baffled, to be honest. How exactly did you fit your wings through the doorway?"

"It wasn't too difficult once the symbols had been broken. All I had to do was…" Castiel drew himself up haughtily as he let slip a Dean-worthy metaphor, "…click my heels."

"Ah yes!" Crowley shook a finger in the angel's direction, "I'd forgotten about your little _pets_. Speaking of which, are the Winchesters going to grace us with their presence or are they still chasing Sam's bastard love child around the continental U.S.A?"

"They'll be along." Castiel responded, "In the meantime, I am here to strike a deal with you."

Crowley's brow creased and his lower lip jutted out in surprise, "I'm sorry. Come again?"

The angel tilted his head, unamused blue eyes squinting, "I am here to stike a deal." He uttered his final words with measured contempt, "With you."

The self-proclaimed King of Hell contemplated in silence as he strolled along the length of the room, index finger tracing the metallic rim of a lab table. Finally he stopped and looked Castiel dead in the eye.

"As it so happens," A smile tugged at the corners of Crowley's lips as he spoke, "that's what I do best."

Castiel remained deadpan, eyes only flickering momentarily across the infected humans.

"Castiel!" The crack of Crowley's palms meeting sharply resounded through the hollow, "Ain't got all night, mate."

"The Winchesters are on their way here to destroy Meg's second lair. They have no knowledge of your presence…" Angel met Demon in a wary gaze, "…nor need they ever have."

Crowley flicked his tongue over dry lips as he reached into his coat, "And just how," He queried causally as he removed a handkerchief and dabbed at his chin, "do you plan on working that particular miracle – considering, after all, that I'm not going anywhere?"

"How long before you tire of underestimating them?" Castiel snapped, his voice growing dark as he stormed towards the demon – who took an involuntary step back at the growling archangel before him, "Your miserable life means nothing to me, and it will _end_, Crowley! They _will_ end it; make no mistake of that!"

"What would you have me do?" Crowley jeered, "Abandon ship? I've come too far!"

"You have the book." Castiel stopped just a few inches short of the demon, "And in that book is all I need to stop Oplexicon once and for all."

"It's not _Oplexicon_ you should be worried about!" Crowley hissed, "An archdemon _that_ ancient doesn't just 'come out of hiding' and let an irritating little whelp like _Winters_ ride his coattails into the past because he wants her _soul_!"

The condescending words forced Castiel to lower his tone, "What are you saying?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Crowley raised his eyebrows, "It's Sam, Castiel. It's always Sam! That demon wants one thing; the boy king's head on a stick, and _Nate_, well." Crowley shook a finger as he retreated from Castiel and instead moved to circle the table, "poor little Natey, with her sob stories and her daddy issues and her malnourished little hide – _she can give that to him_!"

The accusation was like a knife in the gut. Not for Castiel, but he could feel the pain that this would cause his friend burn through his heart.

Crowley let out a sudden squeak of surprise as Castiel's hands closed around his throat and slammed him up against the wall.

The angel's brilliant blue eyes were aflame with anger, "You're lying!"

"Am I?" Crowley remained non-plussed, "Then kill me. But without my intelligence on Winters, Sam will die before her clock runs out, and you won't see it coming."

The sound of bangs and crashes echoed from the sewer tunnel that led to Meg's last bastion. Dean, Nate and Pierce weren't far away. Castiel was loath to lend even a shred of credence to anything that came of out Crowley's mouth, but time was running out and a decision needed to be made.

The angel glared viciously, the desire to tear Crowley limb from limb evident in his eyes. But he released the demon grudgingly.

"Can you prove this?"

"Castiel," Crowley touched his chest dramatically, "You offend me."

Cas rolled his eyes, and Crowley continued, eyes darting towards the infected humans – who began to stir.

"I could summon Oplexicon and trick him into admitting it, but I doubt that'll suffice for Sam and Dean. They are, how can I put it," Crowley raised an eyebrow scornfully, "blind as fucking bats, when it comes to family, you see."

Castiel had to give the demon credit for that. Crowley knew the Winchesters as well as he did at this point.

"The only means of convincing _them_ would be catching little Natey in the act of attempting to murder Daddy Dearest." Crowley inched cautiously away from Castiel under the pretence of a causal stalk, but the angel never took his eyes off the man, "Give her a wide berth. Give her back her precious little _flask_. Make her believe that she is trusted. I guarantee it won't be long before her true colors reveal themselves. In the meantime…" He gave Castiel a knowing look while pointing a finger, "I'll be in touch."

With a flick of his fingers, Crowley was gone.

As were the ten infected humans.

Castiel ground his teeth as frustraton bubbled up inside him. The pesky human sentiment was clearly a result of prolonged interaction with Dean, Sam and their wealth of emotional baggage they seemed to lug with them everywhere. He would have to do some serious detoxing before returning to Heaven, or his subordinates would think he had lost his mind.

"Cas!" The sharp bark of Dean's voice brought the angel back to reality, and he turned to face the oncoming trio as they entered, boots and pant legs dark and soggy with foul-smelling water and their faces splattered in blood (who the blood belonged to was uncertain at that moment).

They stopped short of the angel and took in the sight of the abandoned workshop.

"What the hell happened?"

"Crowley must've gotten wind of our coming." Lying went against every celestial instinct Castiel possessed but, thanks to the Winchesters, it was a skill he was (slowly) honing, "He's nowhere to be found."

"Son of a bitch!" Dean's yell of frustration bounced off the walls along with the random object his boot impacted. Pierce winced in bewilderment and Castiel watched, stone-faced.

Nate sniffed at the air.

"Dean." Her grey eyes shot, not to her uncle, but to the archangel in front of her as she spoke.

"What?" Dean all but snarled in reply.

"He was _just_ here." Nate stepped forward, eyes remaining pinned on Castiel, "Crowley. I can _smell_ him."

Castiel narrowed his own icy eyes and opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by Dean yelling over his shoulder as he and Pierce checked out the perimeter.

"Yeah Crowley tends to leave a nice little stink behind. My guess is he made tracks _right_ before we got here, that slimy bastard!"

The girl was still coming at Castiel, head tilted at an angle, "Or after." Nate lowered her tone to address him only, "Depending on who 'we' is, am I right, Hotwings?" She stopped a mere foot from the archangel and fixed with him a hard gaze that reminded Castiel too much of Sam for his comfort.

"Perhaps you are inhaling the stench of your upper lip." He pulled on his innermost reserves of modified Dean-quips in a desperate effort to stifle Nate's interrogation.

"Or the smell of your _bullshit_?" She hissed in a whisper, inching closer than was safe at that moment, "Don't think you're off the radar just cuz _Sam's_ not here to _mind-probe_ you, asshole!"

"If _Sam_ were here, then _you_ wouldn't be. Perhaps I should summon him?"

"Oh right! Like a _dog_. Nice."

"Hey Cas!" A holler from Dean intercepted the strongly-worded retort Castiel had lined up, "Quit pullin' Nate's pigtails and gimme a hand with this, would ya?"

"You came here to bargain." Nate continued, eyes widening in understanding as they both ignored Dean's request, "Crowley's got the book; that's why you're here. You're after Oplexicon."

"Cas!"

"You're delusional." Castiel informed her through a tight-clenched jaw, "Sam was right. You should be hospitalised."

"What, am I speaking _French_?" Dean's calls grew louder through the basement hold.

"You want Oplexicon? I can get you the _book_, Castiel." Nate had gone from livid to earnest in a matter of seconds, "Just tell me where they buried Ruby."

Castiel's face slackened with shock at the unexpected and dangerous proposal. Winters raised her eyebrows and walked away, retreating from his personal space to join Pierce and Dean on the other side of the room.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to tease the archangel?" The reprimand was given absent-mindedly as Dean tugged fruitlessly at the handle of a chest, "Hey pass me that crowbar-looking thingy over there."

Nate rolled her eyes and slapped said object into Dean's palm, "Castiel is lying, Dean. Crowley's been gone less than five minutes. I can tell."

"Is that so?" Dean's response was absent-minded, the kind an adult gives to a child who's been telling the same story for ten full minutes.

Nate checked out, her eyes glossing over stonily as she turned to Pierce, a coy smile playing on her full lips, "Do me a favour, yeah?"

"Uh sure." The young man replied thickly.

"Don't let Dean outta your sight." Nate was whispering as she tucked her handgun into the waistband of Pierce's trousers, causing him to hiss soflty under his breath, "I'll brb."

"Uh…I don't think that's such a good idea." Pierce faltered, glancing over his shoulder at the stacked hunter muscling open the ancient case behind them. He turned back to address his concerns further with Nate, but she was already gone, and the sirens began to throb in his head.

"Oh…wow. Okay." Pierce squared his shoulders and sucked in his breath as Dean's boot connected with the partially-broken lid of the chest. It clattered to the ground, kicking up a dust cloud in its wake.

Pierce imagined his own head at that angle and winced. "Uh, Dean…"

"What the hell?" Dean's elbow shielded his face from a nasty stench that wafted up from the open chest, "Hey, Cas! Get a load of this!"

Pierce had failed to notice that Castiel seemed to vanished momentarily, but now the angel was sidling up to Dean as though he had never been gone.

"What is it?"

"More like 'who'." Dean removed his elbow from his face but kept his nose scrunched in disgust as he bent over the decomposed body, "Any bright ideas?"

Castiel tilted his head, "This was an occupied vessel, much revered and preserved by magic until the spell was broken," Here he gazed pointedly at Dean, "when the chest was opened."

Dean opened his mouth and then shut it, swallowing once before he drew himself up haughtily, "Hey, I asked you to help me out, but you were too busy gettin' your ya-yas out with Nate!" Green eyes narrowed sharply for an instant, "Speakin' of which, where is she?"

"We could probably find out who the body was if we check the contents of the chest!" Pierce's sudden (and desperate) interjection caused both Dean and Cas to jump ever so slightly, "I…I…I mean, I can take a look at the body, if you want. I'm a doctor…sort of."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, "You're pre-med."

"Yeah, but I've got connections." Pierce defended himself, peering over to get a look at the decomposing body before he blanched and turned away, "This might be a major key in Meg or Crowley's next big move. To keep a body this protected, it's obviously important."

Dean graced him with a long, hard look that made Pierce want to melt into the floorboards.

"Where is she, kid?"

Castiel suddenly seemed on edge, his normally unreadable face hardening.

"You lie to me, I'll fuck you up." Dean wasn't playing, either.

"I…you know, she was just here." Pierce thumbed awkwardly over his shoulder, looking frantically around Crowley's abandoned bat-cave for a sign, any sign, that Nate would actually 'be right back'.

The only sound that greeted them was the vacant drip of a water faucet.

Shit. "Okay, look. She uh…she might've stepped out for some air, or something." Pierce attempted. "Look, she said she'd brb!"

"Oh!" Dean nodded at Castiel with a grit jaw, "Oh, you hear that, Cas? She said she'd 'brb', so uh…so it's all just freaking cool."

"I am not familiar with that terminology." Castiel growled, "But she can't have gone far. I'll be right back."

Dean didn't have time to comment on the irony before Castiel vanished from the room. Instead he glared at Pierce, "What the hell were you thinking? And why the hell do you have Nate's _gun_?"

"Oh uh…" Pierce felt the awkward weight of the handgun against his skin and fumbled with it as he held it out to Dean, "She told me to watch out for you till she got back."

"She did, huh?" Dean snatched the gun from Pierce, "And who was gonna watch out for _Nate_? You know, considering she left her _gun_ with you before she took off _alone_?"

Pierce felt his face flush red, "Didn't think of that."

"No shit, Sherlock." Dean dismissed the hapless with a flail of his hand, turing his back to rub a hand across his jaw. This was bad. He had taken Sam's daughter, sick and perhaps even on her deathbed, without his brother's permission or knowledge, into the den of the most dangerous demon on earth.

And then he lost her.

How the fuck was he going to explain this?

A sudden clatter brought Dean's attention sharply to his right. He shoved Pierce (however angry he was with the guy, it didn't override his hunter's instinct) behind him by the scruff of his jacket, cocking his shotgun with single-handed practice.

Dean was completely thrown by the sight of the giant storming through the enclosure, tearing a warpath with boots that looked like they could crush a skull.

His behemoth of a brother had arrived on the scene, shoulders squared, fists clenched by his sides. Sam's hair was disheleved and his rumpled t-shirt clung tightly to his skin in the damp air around them. The muscles of his jaw caused ripples in the stubble along his cheeks.

Sam's eyes were like two walls of hard, gray stone. He stopped a few feet short of his brother and graced with a look of complete betrayal and disgust. Dean felt his heart stop beating for a moment.

"So," Sam spoke in an eerily calm voice, "Where is she?"

"Cas went to get her from the…"

"WHERE," The room trembled with each bellowed word, several weakened neon lights spontaneously combusting, "IS MY DAUGHTER?"

As quickly as the outburst had begun, it was over. Sam folded his arms and raised his eyebrows, mouth still locked into a hard line of contempt for his older brother.

"She's with Cas! Now would you calm down? We got ourselves a situation here." Dean wanted nothing more than to apologize to his brother, to beg forgiveness and explain his side of the issue, but current circumstances weren't exactly catering to a Winchester heart-to-heart.

"I trusted you." The words cut Dean like a silver blade. Sam turned away, evidently too angry and repulsed to continue the conversation.

"It's my fault." Pierce sounded like he wanted to eat a bullet as he timidly waved an open palm, "I let her take off cuz she said she had to check something. Said she'd be right…"

"Shut up." Both Dean and Sam barked at the same time, before scowling at each other. The older Winchester ground his jaw while the younger one prayed for patience.

"What is that?" Sam nodded at the decrepid corpse behind his brother, and Dean turned, silently accepting that, although their conversation was far from over, a temporary white flag was being waved.

"More like who." Dean grimaced in digust at the foul pong, "Guess Crowley couldn't afford the overweight on his getaway flight. It's important, though, whatever it is. Cas says it's some kind of vessel."

Stepping past his brother, broken splinters crunching under his boots, Sam ran a hand over the runes of the chest, "Looks like some kind of preservation spell." Sharp hazel eyes suddenly bored into Dean, "Someone couldn't wait for Cas again?"

Dean squinted at his little brother, "Yeah well _Cas_ was a little busy duking it out with _Natey_, alright? Kid said she smelled a rat and Cas got all _touchy_."

"What do you mean? What happened?"

Dean was busy running his fingers along the hem of the coffin – checking for hex bags, "I dunno. I guess Crowley took off right before we made it in and Nate seemed to think Cas had a hand in it, I dunno." Dean repeated his bewilderment as he felt dowh the pockets of the dilapidated jacket on the body.

Sam normally would have joined his brother in scouring for clues, but the furrow of his eyebrows indicated he was too upset, "Well did she _explain_? I mean, there's gotta be some kind of _explanation_ for…"

The flutter of wings flapping at the air around them alerted them to the return of Castiel. The angel had Nate's upper bicep in a vice grip and the two of them were in the midst of a heated exchange.

"Just save your bullshit for the Winchesters, featherweight – they're _clearly_ the only ones stupid enough to buy it!"

"You overstep yourself! Had you any notion of my ranking in Heaven, you would not dare to…"

"Ooh, the classic 'do you know who I am'; I beg your pardon, Tara Reid!"

"Silence!" Castiel boomed, his voice large and dark all of a sudden, smiting Nate across the cheek before shaking the girl in his arms like a ragdoll until she was yanked from his grip by Sam.

The younger Winchester wrested his daughter out of the archangel's deadly hands and pushed her behind him. One hand kept Nate pinned against the small of his back while the other warned off the furious celestial being in front of them.

"Cas! Stop!"

Dean was at the angel's side in an instant, hand hovering as if he wanted to steady his friend but unsure if it safe to do so. "Cas, chill out!" He glanced warily between Castiel, who was coiled like a cobra, and Sam, who looked more worried about the safety of his daughter than exacting revenge – for once.

The oddest thing of all, however, was the fact that Nate had burrowed into the muscular hollow of Sam's back, fists bunched up by her head. Her face was shrouded in her long mess of hair, but the trembling of her shoulders gave tell to the fact that the girl was far from well.

Pierce cleared his throat, "We should probably get this body out of here. I think it's our only lead, guys."

"I have tried, Sam. For _you_." Castiel stepped away from Dean, cold blue eyes locked with Sam's as he groused out the words, "But no longer. I denounce your daughter as a traitor and an enemy of Heaven."

"What?" Dean was utterly floored by the fact that Cas was declaring open war, "Jesus, Cas, what the hell happened in all the five minutes you two were gone?"

"I have no desire to discuss anything within earshot of this _creature_!" Castiel seethed as he aimed a finger in Nate's direction, "I will contact you once you are alone, Dean." Without another word, the angel vanished from the room.

The three men remaining were left utterly bewildered. A soft groan from Nate prompted Sam to move her in front of him and place both hands on the face hiding beneath a layer of hair.

"Hey – it's okay. He's gone. You alright?" He tilted up Nate's petite jawline, his own face drawn tight with concern, as his thumbs brushed at the pallid, sallow skin which was rapidly beginning to bruise.

To the shock of all, Nate shook her head, closing her eyes and heaving a breath as she reached up and grabbed Sam's wrists for support.

"I need…I need a drink."

"You need a doctor!" Sam scooped his daughter up in his ample arms and for once, Nate didn't protest. In fact, she slipped one lean arm around her father as her head lolled against his shoulder.

"Whose corpse is that?" Nate muttered through pale lips, furrowing her eyebrows at the chest Pierce was attempting to piece back together for transport.

"We don't know yet." Sam replied evenly as he headed through the deserted demon lair, stepping over a potpourri of suspicious paraphernalia, "Any ideas?"

The younger Winchester felt his daughter's head shake against his chest and her body tremble in his grip, "Sam, I'm gonna hurl."

The warning was followed immediately by a spew of bloody vomit, splattering at the toes of Sam's boots and on the sleeve of Nate's jacket. She jerked violently, and a weaker man would likely have dropped her as a result. Sam lurched slightly as Naste doubled over to retch, but kept his grip up strong.

"Crap." The utterance of dismay came from none other than Pierce, as he and Dean paused in their lugging of the now-closed chest, "Is that _blood_?"

"Just shut up and keep hauling!" Dean growled at him from the other side of the box, before barking at his little brother, "Sammy! We gotta keep moving, man!"

"Shut up, Dean."

* * *

The car ride was tense.

The Impala tore up the road, time being of the essence. Dean winced as his baby flew over every speed bump, feeling and hearing the jolt of the heavy coffin in the trunk, and tried not to think about the damage being done to his baby.

_Sam's_ baby was taking precedence at that particular moment.

"We gotta find Meg." Nate muttered, her n0rmally pale skin almost transluscent and contrasting sharply with the crimson veins threading her face, "I wouldn't put it past that bitch to be hooking up with Crowley as we speak."

"How about we leave off the _speaking_ for a while, huh?" Sam had refused to let go of Nate, squishing his giant frame into the backseat of the Impala with his daughter resting in his lap. Nate had protested feverishly at being suffocated by the younger Winchester's massive arms, but had yet to object to leaning against his chest. Sam's hands were clenched into fists by his sides, evidently in an effort to prevent himself from crushing his gravely ill child in a bear hug.

Dean found the whole situation highly unfamiliar and therefore, uncomfortable.

He wasn't the only one.

"So…" Pierce was valiantly riding shotgun, "You guys been doing this whole…demon-hunting thing for a while?"

Dean gripped the steering wheel harder and forced a grim smile, "Let's just say it's the, uh, family business." A deer scuttled across the glare of his headlights and he resisted the urge to honk at the entire state of Colorado.

"Uh huh." Pierce looked decidedly ill at ease, shifting in his seat before he continued, "So Sam, I've been meaning to ask – how'd you get here so fast? I mean, Castiel beamed the three of us over…plus Dean's car, which is surprising. I guess he was feeling a little amped up." He continued to ramble, missing the sharp exchange of eye contact between Dean and his little brother in the rearview mirror.

"Uh…let's just say I was feeling a little amped up myself." Sam looked almost amused, and Dean rolled his eyes at the notion.

Again, he was not alone.

"It's not funny, Sam." Nate groused hoarsely, eyes closed and sweat beading at her forehead, "Your freaky mumbo jumbo scares the shit out of me."

The first time Nate Winters had finally admitted to being afraid of something, and it turned out to be Sam. The look of pain that crossed his brother's face for a split second caused Dean to break his icy silence.

"So Natey, just outta curiosity, you got any leads on where this whole Meg-Crowley thing is going down?"

"It was supposed to be that warehouse." The girl's voice sounded slurred and distant, her eyes remaining closed but furrowing into a glare, "And thanks to your pal His Holy Wing and Dagger, that location's shot!"

"Which reminds me," Sam ran his thumb across Nate's latest bruise, ignoring her squirm, "what exactly went down with you and Castiel?" He felt her shrug against his forearms and scowled, almost losing his temper at the noncommittal response, "It's _obviously_ important if you felt scared enough to run to _me_!"

"I didn't run – you yanked me!" Nate protested hotly, eyes flashing open as she twisted to push away. Sam's arms were suddenly around her like two giant lengths of rope, preventing escape.

Pierce and Dean exchanged a quick expression of longing to become flies on the wall.

"Tell us what happened." Sam insisted gently, "Please."

The minute struggle had evidently drained Nate as she collapsed again, eyes closing and chest heaving.

"Maybe later." The mumble was more petulant than weary. Dean resisted the urge to threaten to pull over. Castiel was one of their dearest friends, their brother in all but blood. The scene that had unfolded in the warehouse between the archangel and his niece had made Dean sick to his stomach. He wanted answers, and he doubted very much that _later_ would ever come with Nate the Secret-Queen Winters.

Silence reigned for a few minutes. Dean took a turn-off to the hospital when his cell phone buzzed. Fishing around in his jacket pocket, he thumbed on the device and held it to his ear, rolling his eyes at Pierce as the young man mumbled something about it being illegal.

"It's me."

"Dean?"

The oldest Winchester straightened in his seat, heart stuck in his throat at the familiar-sounding voice, "Who is this?"

A moment of hesitation later and he had his answer.

"S'me. Adam."


	24. Chapter 24

Dean blanched, frozen between hope and disbelief.

"Who _is_ this?"

Sam frowned at his brother's tone. It was dangerous.

A heavy sigh greeted Dean's query.

"Answer me!" Came the impatient demand, Dean's knuckles blanching white as he gripped the wheel in fury, "And so help me, if you say you're…"

"I _am_ Adam!" The response was weary, hoarse, "I got out of the pit two weeks ago. I just got this number."

Dean's eyes burned and squeezed shut against his will. He forced them open and cleared his throat, "Prove it."

A long silence reigned before Adam growled out a response, "You played 'Rock of Ages' when you came to break up our fight."

Relief, and confusion, flooded Dean, "Where are you?"

"Uh…the Shilo Inn Hotel in Evansville. Woke up off Route 87 in Casper with a splitting headache and 100 dollars in my pocket." Adam sounded about as confused as his big brother.

"Wyoming?" Dean raised his eyebrows, "Okay, just stay put. We're comin' to you."

"I feel really…weird, Dean."

"You just stay in that hotel room, you hear me? We're one state over."

Silence.

"Adam, you hear me?"

"That's Adam?" Sam leapt forward, depositing Nate on the seat beside him and almost squishing her in his effort to get closer to Dean, "Is he okay? Dean, what's going on?"

"Adam, you still there, buddy?" Dean waved angrily at his brother, ignoring the bitch face Sam sent him in response.

"Dean, take this turn-off to Wyoming. It's fastest!" Nate motioned at the overhead sign, and her uncle complied.

"Dean…I'm so sorry for everything." Adam sounded choked up, and it broke Dean's heart.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, you understand me? Hell if anyone should feel guilty, it's _Sam_; I mean, at least you picked the angel. He went with _Satan_!"

"Thanks, Dean!" Sam snapped, and Dean gave him a sickly sweet smile.

"Is Sam there, too?" Adam sounded stunned.

"Yeah, we're both here, buddy. We'll be there in a couple of hours. Try and get some rest."

"Okay." The line went dead. Dean stuffed his phone into the glove compartment and looked at his brother in the rearview mirror.

"Adam's alive."

"Yeah, I got that. What I don't get is how? If whatever pulled me out pulled him out too, how come he waited so long to contact us?" Sam looked anguished, and Dean gave him a sarcastic expression.

"I dunno, Sam, maybe he took a leaf out of _Second Oldest_ _Brother's_ book and spent the last three years _hunting_!"

"What?" Nate had propped herself up against the window pane and rested the side of her forehead against one fist, "You didn't _tell_ Dean when you got out the Pit?"

Sam looked like he wanted to defend himself, but before he could figure out an appropriate argument, Nate was already moving on from the subject.

"That's cold, Sam." She nodded and then reached out, patting Pierce's jacket shoulder, "That demon was riding you for a good long while. You must have _something_ we can use to track down Crowley!"

"Um…"

"No-one's tracking Crowley down 'til we find Adam!" Dean reminded her flatly, "And even then, _we_ are not doing _anything_. Only place _you're_ going is the hospital."

Nate rolled her eyes and muttered something dark and four-lettered.

Pierce subtly switched on the radio.

* * *

The Shilo Inn Hotel was a quaint, slope-roofed building with a cosy interior and local, friendly staff. The four visitors – two well-built, lethal-looking men dwarfing a thin, sickly-looking girl and a lean, studious youth wearing one of Bobby's worn plaid shirts – created no small stir as they approached the desk. The young receptionist blushed heavily as Dean turned smouldering green eyes on her.

"Welcome to the Shilo Inn. Here to book a room?" She stammered.

"Actually, we're lookin' for a friend. Was hoping you could help." Dean flashed her a million-dollar smile, and the woman seemed to fairly swoon.

Nate smirked and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Is your friend staying here?"

"Yeah. He's uh yea-high," Dean levelled a hand at the air, "Hair the same color as mine, blue eyes. Kinda dreamy."

"Like yours?" The woman giggled, and Nate nudged her father heavily as Sam pretended to retch behind Dean's back.

"Does your friend have a name?"

"Yeah, Adam Milligan."

She checked the databade, fingers clacking in a flurry of movement, glancing up saucily at Dean as she did so.

After a moment, she frowned. "Um. I don't have anyone by that name on record. But your description sounds a lot like Mike."

Pierce and Nate both noticed the tension that stiffened the muscles of the Winchester brothers at that name.

Sam stepped forward, breaking protocol of allowing Dean to finish his Prince Charming routine, "Mike?"

The woman gave Sam a long, appraising stare, "Michael Miller. He's been with us for about a week now. About nineteen, twenty years old?" Her coy smile remained as she spoke.

It was Nate's turn to retch. Pierce smirked.

"Sounds like Adam. His middle name's Michael, so that's probably the connection. Kid's playing hookey on his LSATs." Dean gave a long-suffering sigh, and the receptionist literally seemed to melt at the fraternal display.

"Let me call his room."

* * *

The sturdy wooden door couldn't open fast enough for the Winchesters. Adam stood at the other end, face drawn and haggard, eyes wide with apprehension as he moved aside to let them in.

"I wasn't sure you'd come."

"Are you kidding?" Dean reached out, grabbing his little brother into a tight hug before pushing him to arms' length, "You okay? What the hell happened?"

"Adam!" Sam crushed the young man into a second vice-grip before Adam had a chance to respond, and felt his younger brother stiffen sharply. Sam got the message and pulled away, "How?"

"I have no idea." Adam replied in a shaky voice, directing the statement at both brothers as Dean crossed his arms and Sam studied him intently, "All I know is I was down…_there_." Adam shuddered as he said the word, "and…from one minute to the next I was waking up to the sweet sound of Wyoming rush hour traffic."

"That's it?" Sam raised his eyebrows, "Nothing strange, no…voices, no visions, nothing?" He sounded about as worried as Dean looked right then.

Adam shook his head, "Nothing. Only a pack of wild horses charging through my head, which I guess I hit when I fell…upwards." He scratched at the back of his neck and froze as Nate and Pierce hovered in the doorway.

"It's okay. They're with us." Dean patted his shoulder before motioning that the two of them should enter. They did so, Pierce anxiously and Nate, reluctantly.

Adam's ice-blue eyes remained tense as they trained on the young girl, and Sam frowned at the expression.

"Adam, what is it?" His gut started to sink and he had a horrible sensation that he really _didn't_ want to know.

Adam raised a shaky finger at Nate, "You. I know you. You were there."

Sure enough, some cans of worm were best left unopened.

Dean unfolded his arms, "What do you mean, she was there?" He looked from his brother to his niece with knit eyebrows.

"When I came to. I remember her." Adam's eyes took on a faraway look, evidently flashing back to the event, "You stood over me on the road. You stuffed some money in my pocket." He sounded more confused than upset, "What are you doing with my brothers?"

Nate's face was a picture of bewilderment as she slammed the door to the room shut before turning to Adam, "I've been with Sam and Dean this whole time. I've never seen you in my life – hell, I've never even _been_ to Wyoming!" Uncharacteristically, she looked to her father for support, "Sam, tell him!"

"You were gone for three weeks, Nate." Sam didn't know what the hell to think, but facts were facts and they needed to be stated, "We only caught up to you a week ago."

"I've been here for _two_!" Adam sounded agitated, glancing between Dean, whose face was obscured by the palm of his hand, and Nate, who was looking at him like he needed to be institutionalised, "I'm telling you guys – _she_ was _there_!"

"Actually, _she_ was in Austin tracking down the son of a bitch who killed her mother!" Nate snarled, taking a step closer to Adam that carried intent of bodily harm despite her weakened state, "If you think I'd actually haul ass to two different states to open an impregnable cage and rescue _Michael_..."

"That cage can be opened from anywhere!" Adam growled, evidently more convinced than ever that it was Nate he had seen that night.

"Well I'm not exactly big on charity!" Nate snapped.

"I'm not much bigger on patience!"

"Shut up!" Sam yelled, placing himself between the two as they inched closer and closer, "Look, neither of you are in any shape to be having this discussion right now! We'll talk about this later." It was as much of a threat as a promise, Sam's eyes shooting daggers as Nate, who flipped Adam the bird before turning on her heel.

"Come on, Pierce."

"Where are we going?" The medical student, who had been awkwardly silent during the whole exchange, now found the idea of bowing out of the scene a welcome break.

"To get some food!" Nate fairly hissed, turning to Sam and opening her jacket to flash him both her handgun and an angel knife as he started to protest, "We'll be fine. You guys sort out your shit." Nate shot Adam a nasty look as he left with Pierce at her flank without another word.

Sam moved to go after them but Dean's soft 'Sam' suggested that his brother needed his back-up on this one. He sighed through his nose and pinched at the bridge of it.

Adam still looked furious and Dean placed a hand on his shoulder.

"How about we sit down, huh? I for one am beat." He guided his little brother over to the paisley-patterned bed and sat him down, before occupying the space beside him, "You don't look so hot, dude."

"It's like…" Adam scrunched his eyes shut and ground a knuckle against his forehead, "a headache but something more, you know? Like there's something stuck in my eye, only, it's not in my eye."

Dean looked warily at Sam, who cast his brother a cautious glance and rested his giant bulk in the chair in front of Adam.

"Try to explain it to us."

Adam shook his head, sighing in frustration and opened his eyelids, training blue orbs at the carpet, "It feels like…I dunno, a footprint or a fingerprint or something someone's left behind, but on my subconscious."

Dean raised an eyebrow, "Someone evil?"

Adam shrugged, looking up at Sam."Who is that girl? And what the hell is she doing with you guys? Please don't tell me you took on some apprentices, because _those_ two weeds…"

"That's not important right now." Dean took over as Sam shifted uncomfortably, "The important thing is that you're out and we're together again and everything's gonna be okay."

Adam let out a small, bitter laugh, "Oh really? Because I remember, Dean. I remember _everything_. And trust me," He threaded his fingers together and studied the floor, his voice hard and hopeless. "It is _never_ going to be okay again."

What could they say? Dean and Sam had been to Hell, Sam as low as the Pit itself, for years at a time. They both knew that Adam had suffered longer than either of them, and in the darkest depths of evil. And the memories still plagued them both.

"Hey," Dean rubbed Adam's back, and the young man flinched but didn't pull away, "it gets better." It was all the comfort he could offer without lieing – and Dean had had enough of lieing to his family.

Adam stood up from the bed, his jaw set as he picked up a khaki shirt hanging over the back of the chair and shrugging it over his shoulders, "So what happens now?"

"I guess you come back with us to Cicero."

"If that's what you want."

Dean had thrown out the first statement and Sam had added the last, both brothers swapping exasperated faces. Adam rolled his eyes and the cuffs of his shirt at the same time.

"What's in Cicero?"

"Home." Dean replied, standing up with a smile at the memory of his wife and son.

"And what are we calling 'home' today? Some two-bit motel close to the freeway?" Adam was clearly in no mood for sentiment, "I'll pass."

"Actually," Sam joined his brother in smiling as he rested his elbows on his thighs, "Dean's somewhat of a family man these days. He's rocking the whole picket-fence thing."

"That's right. Sunday barbequeues, the whole nine yards." Dean said sourly, "Though if you want, you can always stay with Sammy in his _bachelor_ pad – you know, if Hepatitis is your thing."

Adam didn't find any of the brotherly jesting amusing in the least, "So let me get this straight. I've been burning in Hell while you two've been playing Game Of Life." The vitriol in his voice barely masked the hurt.

"I spent two and half years looking for a way to bust you and Sam out of the Cage." Dean's voice changed so fast it gave Adam whiplash, "You know what I came up? Squat. The only way to pull you two out would've been to pull out Lucifer and Micheal, and I'd be damned if I let my brother's sacrifice go to waste that easy!"

"And yet here Sam is!" Adam's yell came so suddenly it caused both brothers to jump, "Alive and well! So I guess it's clear who's more…"

"Don't you dare finish that damn sentence!" Dean was up in Adam's face, hands clutching his upper arms tightly but not painfully, "Look I have _no_ idea how Sam got out, or you for that matter, but I had nothing to do with it! I wish I had! I wished it every damn minute of every damn day you two were down there! So don't you _dare_ go making this about who left who where, little boy, because I'll tell you what – ever since that Cage slammed closed, all three of us have been in Hell!"

"Dean!" Sam's voice rose, cautious but determined from behind his brother, "Enough."

Dean looked like he was contemplating clocking Adam in the jaw or squeezing him into a bear hug, but in the end did neither, instead releasing his hold and turning away.

Adam swallowed and straightened his shirt. The three brothers remained silent for a full five minutes before the youngest one spoke up.

"I've been working at a burger joint about two blocks down from here. Pay's crap but it's kept me afloat. Plus, there's free food." He pulled on a pair of dusty leather boots as he spoke, "Just gotta tell my boss I'm leaving."

"Speaking of which," Dean's tone was still ominous, "You've been out two weeks. What took you so long to call us, huh? Would it have killed you to pick up a phone?"

Adam blushed at the lecture and he paused from lacing up his boots, "I just…didn't know if you wanted to hear from me."

The simple comment was understood instantly. Dean sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. Sam's own face was a picture of concern.

"You mean…you didn't know if you wanted to hear from _us_."

Adam finished with his boots and headed for the window, avoiding the conversation with a muttered "Doesn't matter now."

The midday sun flooded through the curtains and painted Adam in a harsh silhouette. Dean pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, approaching his brother from behind.

"That shirt…where'd you get it?"

Adam glanced sullenly over his shoulder, "I woke up in it. Why?"

Dean reached out, rolling his eyes when Adam flinched, and pulled down the collar to check the tag. "Old Army." He held out the left side of the shirt against the sun, noting three, tiny holes where light flooded through. "Chimera hunt, 2007."

"What is it? What's he talking about?" Adam stepped out of Dean's investigating reach and cast Sam a bewildered expression.

"That shirt is Dean's." Sam explained, joining his older brother in inspecting the rest of Adam's attire, much to the young man's annoyance.

"Get off me!"

"Recognize these boots, Sam?" Dean knelt down next to Adam's feet and raised his eyebrows at his brother, "Two chips in the left sole from chasing that Wendigo in…"

"09." Sam's jaw set, and he glared at the wall beside him, "There's only one logical explanation for this."

"There's an explanation, alright, but it's not logical." Dean growled, rising to his feet as Adam righted his clothing with an indignant huff, "Firstly, there's no _way_ that Nate could open the Cage, and even if she _could_, how the hell would she be able to separate Adam from Michael _and_ close the door behind her?"

"Unless she _didn't_!" Sam fairly spat the words, beginning to pace in an effort to control his mounting rage.

"I think we'd know by now if that were the case, Sam!"

"Alright, that's it!" Adam had had enough of the exclusive dialogue and positioned himself between his two brothers angrily, "Who the hell is this Nate kid, why the hell is she travelling with you guys, and why the _hell_ are you're having such a hard time answering those two simple questions?"

Dean buried his face in his palm and groaned. Sam shook his head and turned away.

Adam crossed his arms, "I'm not going _anywhere_ with you unless you tell me the _truth_!"

At that precise moment, they were saved by a knock on the door.

"Uh guys, we brought food!" Pierce called.

Adam raised his eyebrows at his brothers. Dean glanced sidelong at Sam, defeated.

Sam squared his shoulders, "Fine. Just…promise you won't say anything."

"Depends." Adam declared mulishly, and Sam raised a finger in warning.

"Adam…"

"Whatever! Fine! Just hurry up and tell me!" The young man shuffled from boot to boot at another rap against the door.

Sam took a deep breath, searching for the easiest way to explain it. Coming up short, he closed his eyes and opted for the cold, hard facts.

"Nate's my daughter. She rode a demon back through time to prevent an epidemic that's going to destroy the world as we know it." Sam opened his eyes to see Adam's jaw agape, "Look, I know how it sounds."

"Do you?" Adam snapped, "Cuz it sounds _ridiculous_, Sam!"

Another rap, this time considerably more aggressive, sounded.

"Guys! Let us in – Dean's pie's getting cold!"

"Coming!" Dean left the scene quickly, heading for the door without another word.

Sam flashed Adam a cold look of warning and received a scowl in reply. Dean opened the door, moving aside as Nate trotted in, two large paper bags soaked with grease in her arms, and Pierce on her tail. Nate's cheeks were flushed and she looked considerably better.

"Finally! What took you guys so long?" She shoved the bags onto the coffee table and rummaged through one before she tossed a foam packet at Dean, "Your pie. Extra grease, just the way you like it."

"Sweet." Dean eagerly began to tear into the carton before a controlled look from his brother (not to mention some serious huffing and puffing on Adam's part) caused him to straighten.

"You're gonna love this even more: we got a lead on Crowley. Some truckers at the food joint were talking about a freak show they passed." Nate fished out a packet of French fries and chewed as she continued talking, "Said something about hearing screaming coming from an abandoned sock factory out by Rock Springs. I'm guessing Crowley didn't have enough juice for him and all those passengers to get out of state." She held out the packet to Adam, "Want some, Grumpy?"

Adam's lips curled up in a snarl and he opened his mouth, but a sharp throat-clearing from Sam made him close it again (grudgingly).

"Great. Let's go." Dean waved a hand at the food, "Grab that, will ya, Natey? We'll eat it on the go."

"Whoa, whoa, _we_?" Nate was devouring a burger so greasy it would normally have pissed Sam off had he not been so happy to see her eat, "I'm an invalid, remember? How about you three go smoke out Crowley and I stay here with Pierce, hmm?" She prodded the med student for his agreement, "We can check out the local clinics – you know, find me a room with a view."

Pierce looked decidedly nervous about the idea, but Sam and Dean thought it had merit, considering that Adam looked ready to rip out Nate's intenstines at that particular moment.

"Fine." Sam didn't look overpleased about leaving his daughter, but dragging her into Crowley's rats' nest was an even less pleasing idea. "Stay here. Keep the door and windows locked and line them with rock salt. If you need anything…"

"….send a pigeon. I've got it." Nate was irritated by the condescending pep talk, but her face softened in surprise as Sam ran one giant palm over her hair before bending down and planting a kiss on her forehead.

"Be careful."

Dean watched the exchange with mixed emotions. Adam growled and shouldered his ratty backpack, "Can we go now?"

Nate seemed very thrown by the display of affection, standing up and heading to the bathroom, burger still in hand. The door slammed behind her, leaving the four men stewing in yet another awkward silence.

Finally, Dean turned to Pierce, "You." He jabbed a finger against the man's chest, "Watch her. No 'brbs'."

"And keep your freaking distance." Sam loomed over him, "For more reasons than one."

"Got it." Pierce received the message loud and clear, accepting the gun Dean handed him along with a flask of Holy Water and a bag full of rock salt.

"Oh wow…okay. Yeah we'll…we'll be fine." He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion.

Sam rolled his eyes and Dean clapped his shoulder before nodding at Adam, "Come on, Grumpy. Let's go knit us some socks."


	25. Chapter 25

_**Season's Greetings, all! Hope your Holidays were epic. Got two weeks off from work and three days off from mom duties, so this new chapter is fresh off the grid. Warning: it's not very...festive.**_

_**- Tyler**_

* * *

The factory was about as cheery as Crowley's previous haunt – although anything was cosier than the frosty drive the three brothers had shared en route. Even Dean's ever-present wisecracks had been absent, the eldest Winchester as deep in thought as Sam – who had blown a few traffic lights unintentionally (or so he would have Dean believe. The dark furrow of his eyes and the firm grit of his jaw had hinted otherwise) as they drove beneath them.

Dean squinted at the hostile building, noting several burly men looming about various points of entry. He didn't need to see the black flash in their eyes to conclude that they were demons – powerful demons, at that.

Some celestial back-up wouldn't have gone down sideways just then.

Dean winced internally, the jab at the open wound of Castiel's absence throwing off his focus. He cleared his throat, swallowed back the pain, and turned to face his brothers.

"Demons at every doorway. Guess Crowley's not taking any chances this time around."

Sam looked ready to go full-on Rambo on said demons, "We can take them."

"Yeah could I…get a gun or something? I'm not really feeling the whole blind charge at death thing today." Adam's face remained deadpan but his tone suggested he was nervous.

"Dean, I can do it." Sam dipped his head a few centimetres to treat with his brother. His tone was not arrogant or brash – merely decisive, "You know it's the fastest way in."

"Sam, _no_." Dean could be decisive too, when the situation warranted it.

Sam clamped his mouth shut and glared insolently at his sibling. Dean's eyes became rock hard emerlalds.

Adam coughed awkwardly, "Okay, just so we're clear – what's this 'it' we're talking about? Sam still rocking the Satan-socks, by any chance?"

"Shut up, Adam!" Dean barked, and to his annoyance, Adam did exactly the opposite.

"If Sam thinks he has a quick way in, then we should take it. I mean, we're three guys against a building full of demons!"

"_Sam_ wants to drink _demon_ blood and nuke the joint!" Dean's hand indicated at said brother while his eyes remained trained angrily on Adam, "Now I know you ain't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to all things _evil_, but does that sound like a bright idea?"

Adam shot Dean a belligerent look but wisely made no further comment.

The sun crept in cold shadows across the Impala's glossy hood – a chilling reminder of the time portal still wreaking havoc with the world.

Shockingly enough, it was Adam who came up with the compromise.

"We're burning daylight, and judging by the looks of those lines, this place has no power." The youngest Winchester gave the factory a determined once-over, "Now I know the idea of creeping around a dark, demon-infested sock factory probably just _tickles_ you guys, but me, not so much. So here's what we're gonna do…"

Dean had rolled his eyes more than once during Adam's monologue, but even he was impressed enough by the suggested course of action to swallow his gripes and get with the crowd.

A formidable, 200-pound engineer lumbered across the length of the factory's backdoor balcony. His eyes flashed black as he tripped on a loose grate and let out a curse.

"Hey!" A second demon called, eyes dark as coals in his thin, pale face, "Watch yourself! Boss don't like'em clumsy!"

"Who you calling 'clumsy', dipshit?" The burly demon huffed as he closed the space between them in a few short strides, boots clanging against the metal flooring, "You know, I bet you'd be a lot less cocky if I ripped the tongue off your meatsuit!"

The second demon laughed over his shoulder, directing his amusement at his three companions who had ambled over in anticipation of a fight.

"Bring it, fatty! Maybe after I finish grinding you to a pulp, we can find a nice _sheep_ for you to ride…"

He got no further when a heavy electrical cable, weighted at the end with several rusty wrenches, swung directly at his head, sending him flying.

"What the…"

One, two, three times the cable swung, each time knocking a demon from the balcony. Their motionless bodies thudded against the pillow of soil surrounding the factory. The whole attack had been relatively silent and was over as quickly as it had begun.

Dean watched his brother closely as Sam extended his palm further, wrapping the wire around an ancient hatch on the fire escape door. Fingers clenching in a fist, Sam pulled, eyes wincing shut at the strain as he did so. The rusty metal door swung open with a creak, a billow of dusty air rushing from its mouth.

Sam slumped against Dean's side at precisely the moment that his brother's arm guided him there. He blinked back a spectacular migraine and swiped at the warm liquid trickling from his nose.

"You okay?" Dean was using a gravelly tone that let Sam know he was choosing to play nice even though he was far from pleased with the situation.

"I'm fine." Sam assured his brother, annoyed at what he deemed to be highly inappropriately-timed semantics. He straightened up and did a body count, pleased to see they had taken out the infantry, "Let's do this."

Adam was already stomping purposefully towards the factory, shotgun in hand. Dean's displeasure left his tone and hardened in his face as he glared after Adam. Sam half-smiled, half-scoffed.

"Kid's got spunk."

"No, kid's got _stupid_." Dean cocked his .44 and checked the rafters for any surviving demons, "Runs in the family, apparently."

Sam ground out a long-suffering sigh at the less-than-subtle rebuke, "Dean, I told you…"

"Yeah I get it – you're _fine_." Dean muttered sarcastically, heading swiftly after Adam, "Let's just get this over with."

Sensing a trap, Sam demanded they split up, with Dean and Adam scouring the upper floor while Sam took the basement.

Despite insisting he 'didn't need a goddamn babysitter', Adam was vastly relieved to have Dean by his side after they encountered several more demons en route to the staircase. Watching Dean dispose of them with the kind of precision that only came from practice (and a great many broken bones) had left Adam with the dismal realization that he had a rough and rugged road ahead of him.

They passed rows of filthy containers full of decrepid-looking socks, guns at the ready and boots moving silently – in Dean's case, that is. Adam poked his head around a corner and came upon the unfortunate sight of two of Crowley's infected humans masticating the innards of a third.

Too many memories, still fresh and raw, sprung to Adam's mind and he froze, stock-still as a strangled warble left his throat. The Croatoan carriers whirled at the noise, hissing with mouths full of entrails, though no sooner had one made a move towards Adam when Dean's handgun blew the pair of them away.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." Adam forced himself to sound as much, finding himself in the shoes Sam been wearing earlier and disliking it intensely. The feeling only worsened as his eldest brother's calloused hand smacked him sharply upside the head.

"Ow!"

"Pay attention!" Dean snapped, before turning to survey the fallen bodies at their feet, "Looks like someone left the safety gate open. How come Crowley didn't break up the fight?"

Adam felt the blood drain from his face and hastily moved on from the scene, "Why don't you ask him when we find him?"

Heavy machinery that looked far too complicated for a sock factory hung at their flanks as the brothers carried on. A rank stench –the smell of rotting flesh that both Dean and Adam knew all too well – was riding in the air, and Dean indicated with two fingers that Adam follow him up a dilapidated stairwell.

"So Sam tells me there're some great colleges in Cicero." Dean trained his gun at a corner and checked it was clear before moving on, "Once we get back, you should ask him to show you around."

Adam was stunned, "Uh…you know, I don't think this is really the right time to be having this conversation." He studied a metal-rimmed table littered with an ancient assortment of grimy socks in an effort to keep his voice neutral.

"I know, right? It's the socks – they're friggin' creepy!" Dean, on the other hand, gave the table a wide berth as he moved towards the source of the stench; a sturdy-looking door, "Time to ring the bell and run, kid."

"Would you stop with the 'kid' crap?" Adam drawled as Dean tossed him a charge and he stuck it to the door, "I dunno why we can't just use Sam to blast the thing open."

"Because Sam is not a weapon." Dean growled curtly, placing another blinking circle against the cold metal, "That's why."

Adam shrugged churlishly, "So once the thing blows, then what?" He followed Dean around a peeling corner of the wall, "The two of us are gonna take on this Crowley guy and his zombie army single-handed?"

Dean shoved Adam's head out of the path of scalding metal as the charges combusted. A new, charred smell pervaded the air, burning their nostrils, throats and eyes.

Adam coughed and blinked at the smoke fogging up his irises. Dean was already striding determinedly towards the steaming, jagged slash in the wall.

"Don't like the plan?" He cocked his gun without sparing a backwards glance at his little brother, "Wait outside."

Adam rolled his eyes as Dean's imposing silhouette disappeared into the smoking mouth of the doorway. He fingered the cold weight of his gun and cursed his relative's pigheaded obstinace.

"Fucking Winchesters!"

Adam had just made the reluctant decision to take up Dean's rear when a raspy hiss behind him made him whirl. A pale, russet-haired woman with dilated pupils and a foaming mouth clutched his throat. Adam was shocked at the strength of her delicate hand as his esophagus constricted and cut off his air supply. The croatoan-infected woman slammed her other fist into his solar plexus even as she lifted Adam off the ground, and what little oxygen he had remaining left him with a rush.

She tossed him like a ragdoll against a cracking pillar, laughing hysterically as he bounced off the plaster and crumpled to the floor, blood pouring from a cut to his temple. The smell excited her and she pounced, landing astride Adam's torso even as he tried to regroup his scattered limbs.

"Just…one…bite…" The woman ground out, teeth gleaming in anticipation as she struggled with the gun Adam was attempting to shove at her face. Her hands were closed around his wrists so tightly they stood a risk of snapping. He glared balefully at her, and the pounding of his heart against his breastbone and the blood rushing in his ears became a marching band. Adam knew this beat – the fear, the anger, the rage…all so primal.

The soundtrack of the Pit itself. _This_ beat he could dance to.

He yanked his hands backwards, and the woman, taken off guard, fell forwards onto his chest. The warm neck beside him exposed, Adam bit viciously into her jugular vein. She screamed, her blood spurting over them both in a thick, sticky fountain. Adam sunk his teeth deeper, tearing at sinew and flesh. The woman struggled to get free, and he let her go, shoving her off him and burying two bullets in her forehead.

"Adam!" Sam appeared, bounding around the corner, shotgun raised. He froze for a moment too long at the sight of the blood-soaked pair, hazel eyes darting from the lifeless woman to the dazed young man. Sam hastily made his way to Adam's side, one giant hand twisting his brother's head towards him, "You okay? You bleeding?" He narrowed his eyes at the gash mixing Adam's blood with the woman's own, "Did she bite you?"

Adam let out a mechanical laugh, "_I_ bit _her_!" His eyes never left the woman as he spoke the words that turned Sam's blood cold.

Sam wanted to punch Adam, to beat him for his complete stupidity, "You _what_? Adam, you could be _infected_!"

Adam just looked at his brother with vacant, unaffected eyes. Sam's temper spiked and he pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to suppress it. A series of gunshots caused both men to snap back on alert.

"Shit. Dean!" Adam shoved past Sam and ran fullspeed towards the sound, Sam on his tail.

They cleared piles of rubble from the explosion, an upset table of syringes and other sterile devices, and came into sight of Dean, who was busy emptying his clip into what appeared to be the last of Crowley's croatoan posse.

Dean felt a fresh wave of contempt for Crowley as he looked at the body of the teenage boy he'd just wasted, shaking his head and vowing to make the crossroads demon suffer once they caught up to him. If they ever caught up to him, that was. Crowley had vanished the minute Dean had pulled out the Colt.

Dean turned to his brothers, "Everyone okay?" He frowned at Adam's appearance, "What happened?"

"Nothing. Just getting in some work experience for the, uh, wonderful family business." Adam wiped his face on a fistful of socks, "So where's Crowley?"

"Bastard took off before I could stick him." Dean kicked at a fallen syringe in frustration, "But judging by the bitch-face he gave me, I'm guessing we just smoked his Plan Z. You find anything?"

Sam shook his head, "Just a bunch of creepy-looking socks."

Dean winced in agreement and Adam huffed to himself.

"Oh yeah, and uh, this." Sam dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sinister-looking pendant dangling from a knotted straw cord, "Symbols match the ones we found on the coffin. I'm guessing this might be the missing piece we need to find out whose that body is."

"Awesome. Don't lose it." Dean clapped his brother's shoulder as Sam rolled his eyes, "Now let's blow this joint before the cops show up. We'll stitch that up on the way." He motioned towards the cut on Adam's forehead and noticed a tense glance pass between him and Sam.

"What?"

Sam raised his eyebrows at Adam, "You wanna tell him, or should I?"

"The only 'telling' that would've helped this situation would have been 'Oh Adam, by the way, before we walk into a sock factory that's full of _zombies_, you might wanna know that any exchange of body fluids is potentially _lethal'_!" Adam snapped, tossing the bloodied socks bunched in his fist at Sam's boots in frustration.

"Well if I'd known I was walking into said sock factory with _Edward Cullen_, I might've _mentioned_ it!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dean interrupted, holding up a palm to silence his seething brothers, "That's not your blood?" He looked very menacing all of a sudden, and Adam would probably have taken a cautionary step backwards if he hadn't still been riding the adrenalin from his earlier fight.

"Some of it is." He offered haughtily.

"The rest of it's from the Croat he bit in the _jugular_!" Sam looked menacing too, come to think of it. Adam felt the sturdy weight of his handgun for security. Dean had gone deathly silent and was looking at him with green eyes that glittered with anger and disappointment and...was that worry?

A moment of silence, much too long and cold, passed between the brothers.

Finally Dean spoke thickly, "Let's go." He glanced once more at Adam before stalking past him.

That was definitely worry.

If the virus didn't kill him, Adam thought, the Winchesters most likely would.

* * *

Meg threw the contents of her glass in Crowley's face, showering him in gin and stepping back to watch it drip down his nose. She folded her arms and waited as he slowly wiped at the liquid with a handkerchief.

"Do that again," Crowely declared calmly, "and I'll kill you. Understand?"

"Kill me?" Meg raised her eyebrows with a smile of rage, "Don't make me laugh, Crowley. You can't even take down a couple of sloppy, gun-totting meatsacks!"

"The Winchesters took me by surprise." He growled, beginning to feel his temper slip.

"Twice!" Meg hissed, her voice almost drowned out by the roar of the Montana falls outside her raided hovel, "And now they've taken off with his vessel! Do you know what that means, Crowley?"

"I'm fully aware of what it means!" He yelled, "You think I'm a bloody idiot? We'll get it back!"

"How?!" Meg hurtled her glass at the crackling fireplace, the remainders of the gin causing a fresh burst of flame from the dying embers, "We have no more Croatoan, no more subjects, no more _time_! He rises in two days, Crowley, and not only do we have _no_ army to defend our power, we have _no_ way to prevent him from taking his vessel because, and I repeat, _YOU FUCKING LOST IT!"_

"And I repeat, we'll get it back!"

"And if we don't?"

"Well let him take it then!" Crowley roared back, and Meg stilled in horror at the words. He forced reason back into his tone, "If he comes, at least he'll take the Winchesters down before he gets around to us. Thanks to my brilliance, Castiel's decided to flap his pesky little wings back to Heaven for the moment, which leaves them one man down."

"Forgetting someone, aren't we?" Meg tiltled her head obnoxiously, "Sam's little progeny just resurrected Uncle _Adam_! If Nate's all-access card gets her into the cage itself, who knows what else she's capable of?"

Crowley jutted out his lower lip with a nod, "True. We _have_ made the dastardly mistake of underestimating that little weasel more than once. Not to worry, though." He raised a finger at Meg even as she gave him a cold stare, "Once the Winchesters find out what she's really here to do, they'll kill her themselves."

"I doubt it." Meg snarled, her boots crunching on the dried leaves scattered on the ground, "And do you _really_ think Winters would _ever_ let them find out she's here to gank Sam? She hasn't slipped _once_, Crowley, and you know damn well that unless she does, there's no way they'd ever believe it!"

"Well if we can't get her to slip," Crowley turned his back on Meg, dark eyes dancing to and fro as a plan began to take shape in his conciousness, "then we'll just have to trip her up, won't we?"

Meg frowned, "What do you mean?"

"It's brilliant." Crowley smiled to himself, whispering the congratulatory remark before he whirled around to face Meg, "A simple spell, old as the hills really. One that's guaranteed to keep little Natey out of our hair – and if we're lucky, one that will bring all her dirty secrets kicking and screaming into the light!"

"What spell?" Meg raised an eyebrow.

Crowley pulled a cigar out of his black coat and rolled it between his fingers, "For me to know, and you to wonder, love."

Meg eyed him contemptuously, "A little early for a victory smoke, isn't it?"

"Oh, this?" Crowley smiled, "I just envisioned that coffin opening up right in the Winchesters midst and it made me all warm and _tingly_ inside. I feel like celebrating."

The corners of Meg's eyes wrinkled with the grin that tugged grudgingly at her mouth.

"You got a light?"

* * *

The Shiloh Inn had witnessed many a domestic issue in its timeline. There had been Casey and Zach Hall, newlyweds who had crashed there on their wedding night and spent two and half hours having a spectacular argument about veganism. Or Harry and Ted McCullum, the Irish couple who, having fled Ireland to escape gender prejudice, had debated separating in order to avoid Harry losing the fortune his millionaire father would have left him had he not married for love.

But the episode it was about to witness, courtesy of the Winchesters, would put the previous contestants to shame.

The Impala roared unapologetically into the parking lot, its purring engine only enunciating the fact that not one of the three brothers had spoken a single word since they had entered the car.

Sam was the first out, long limbs clearing the asphalt in a few quick strides as he entered the lobby, Adam and Dean on his heels. The receptionist flashed him a million-dollar smile.

Apparently, Sam was dealing in a different kind of currency.

The rapid ascent (more accurately described as a jog) up the stairs couldn't have gone faster for Sam, who wrenched the key forcefully in the lock of the door. The sight that greeted him assuaged his deep-set angst only mildly – Nate curled up in a fetal position dozing on Adam's bed while Pierce buried his face behind Sam's laptop screen..

"Hey guys…" Pierce's greeting fell flat as he took in Adam bandaged head and bloodsoaked collar. He lowered the cheery tone to match the shadows on Dean and Sam's faces, "How'd uh…how'd it go? Everyone okay?"

"We're fine." Dean growled as he shut the door behind his brothers, "Aside from Crowley gettin' away and a major health scare from the _Count_ here," he thumbed at Adam, "we're just peachy."

"Well maybe he can go to the same clinic as Nate." Pierce hastily moved the conversation forward as Adam opened his mouth to start a quarrel, "I've found this really good one in Cicero – you uh said that's where you're living, right?"

"We don't have time to hike it all the way back to _Cicero_!" Sam snapped impatiently, "Just find the closest hospital with a treatment programme for cirrhosis!"

"Yeah if they have anything resembling a zombie recovery unit, that'd be a plus!" Dean's vicious quip lit Adam last fuse.

"Bite me, Dean!"

"No thanks – not that stupid."

Nate rolled over and pushed herself slowly to a sitting position, silencing the conversation as she yawned and stretched out her limbs like a cat. Nate instantly cast Adam a hostile glare.

"Well, well. If it isn't Pinnochio." She nodded at Dean, "What happened? You guys get Crowley?"

"No." Dean stormed past her to dump the duffel bag of weapons at the foot of his bed. He frowned at the window sill, "This salt line's broken!"

"Is it?" Nate knit her eyebrows and reached out a slender hand, poking Pierce in the back, "You do any entertaining while I was under?"

The young man gave her such an injured expression that she may as well have accused him of backstabbing, "No I did _not_!"

Dean and Adam were too busy engaging in a whispered quarrel about zombies and viruses and stupidity to capture the subtle rise of Nate's eyebrows at Pierce.

Pierce noticed however. He coughed and ducked his head down, "I did open the window to get rid of this nasty smell from the room next door, though. Just for a minute. Sorry."

Unfortunately for Nate, who was already riding on Sam's last remaining nerve, her father had noticed the eyebrow-raise as well.

Sam's hand slammed the laptop shut hard enough to make Pierce jump like a startled rabbit.

"Nate didn't do much _sleeping_, did she?" The hunter's tone was hard as his eyes, as he leaned over the desk and placed a hand on either end of it to glare menancingly into Pierce's face.

"Sam, what's your problem…"

"Did she?" Sam repeated, eyes blazing like fire and knuckles whitening as he gripped the desk tighter.

Pierce swallowed tightly, glancing back at Nate who flashed him a wide-eyed face of apprehension.

He felt sorry for her, really, he did. But Pierce decided on that particular day that life and limb were more important.

He went with the truth. "Some dude came by about an hour ago and tapped on the window. I told Nate not to open it, but she said it was cool and she knew him, that he was a friend of you guys." He purposefully ignored the scraping of Nate's boots against the floor as she rose angrily to her feet, "He handed her something, she gave him a wad of cash. That's all I know. I'm sorry."

"That was Kurt!" Nate insisted, spreading her arms in a show of frustration as the brothers looked on stonily, "He'd been trying to track me for months to warn me about your little Ghostfacer pals' latest attempt to take me out! When he finally caught up to me, he gave me _this_," She dug into her pocket and produced a USB device, "which has a record of all the conversation logs between Ed and Harry and their crazy, light-sabre-wielding hitmen!"

"Oh really, and the wad of cash, that was just to express your gratitude, right?" Sam had heard enough, but apparently Nate wasn't ready to stop talking.

"It was two hundred bucks in 20s, okay? I felt bad at how much gas Kurt had to blow to drive three states over just to warn me!"

"Dean," Sam stated calmly, eyes never leaving Nate as he spoke, "Adam, Pierce, could you guys excuse us for while?"

Pierce was already pulling on his jacket, looking more than eager to beat the scene. Adam joined him, flashing a poorly-concealed smirk of gloating at Nate as he brushed past her. Nate responded by whipping out a foot, hooking it behind Adam's ankle and shoving her shoulder into his with the full weight of her body. He fell backwards, landing on his ass with a curse.

Nate moved forward to kick Adam in the ribs, when Dean's arm restrained her.

"Stop it! Just calm down!"

"I'm fucking sick of your kangaroo courts!" Nate yelled, shoving Dean off her and turning to face both him and Sam, "I can't win, can I? Damned if I do and damned if I don't – I don't know why I fucking bother! I should just let Oplexicon kill you off and go back to ganking zombies in the future, because _that_ was bad enough but _this_? _This_ is a living hell!"

"Yeah well you know what I'm sick of?" Sam snapped, "Being lied to, over and over again! So if you think for one second that hysteria is gonna get you off the hook this time, you can _forget_ it!"

"UGH!" Nate fairly screamed at the sky in frustration, "Again with the accusations! You know what?" She threw up her hands, "Screw this! I'm outta here."

Sam's eyes flared, "You're not going _anywhere_…"

"Hey Oplexicon!" His daughter's holler took everyone off guard, "I need a personal day!"

"Who the hell is Oplexicon?" Adam muttered to Dean and leant against the window sill.

"An arch-demon." Dean explained tersely, eyes focused on Sam.

"Okay, and why exactly is he taking orders from Sam's little angel?" Adam continued tersely.

"Apparently, he's not." Dean folded his arms and felt a grim satisfacti0n at the fact that Nate's insistent calls were going unanswered.

"Oplexicon!" Nate yelled, louder and more frantic, "Damn it! Beam me up already!"

"Nate, _enough_!" Sam yelled, and the TV not-so-spontaeneously combusted in a cloud of smoke and glass.

"Sam…" Dean cautioned his brother.

"Sorry." Sam ground out the word irritably and jammed his fist into his forehead in an attempt to regain his composure.

"Uh, Sam?" Pierce spoke up hesitantly, hands coming down from where they had defensively shielded his face.

"What?" The hunter ground out the word, broad back turned on the group and hand still pressed into his forehead.

Pierce pointed at Nate, who stood frozen in place, her head tilted sideways and her eyeliner smeared around two unseeing orbs. She didn't react when Dean waved a cautious hand in front of her face.

"Oh great – what now?"

"Kid's probably in shock. I mean, Sam did just blow up the TV, which, by the way, I am not paying for!" Adam shoved off from the window ledge and moved to stand beside his brothers as Dean snapped his fingers several times in Nate's eyeshot and the girl didn't so much as blink.

"Please, Nate in shock? The Oroville Dam'd bust easier than she would!" Dean turned to Sam, "You wanna try and snap her out of it?"

Sam's arms were crossed and he glared over his shoulder, "If I touch her, I might _kill_ her."

"Fine." Dean rolled his eyes and reached out, gingerly patting Nate on the shoulder – then jumping when her eyes leapt up to meet his own, "Whoa. Hey, what happened? You kinda blanked out on us for a second there. You okay?"

Nate blinked in confusion, lifting a hand to the side of her temple, "I did? Huh."

"'Huh'." Sam repeated her wording, turning around to face his daughter in irritation, "Well that's a step up from 'it's none of your goddamn business'." The irony in his voice rang clear as he unfolded giant arms and rested his palms on the back of a chair.

"You're mad." Nate's tone was anxious, "You have every right to be. What I did was totally obnoxious! I'm sorry, Sam."

The stunned silence that made camp in the hotel room was thunderous. Dean's eyebrows hit the roof and he turned to Sam, who straightened with a face of complete bewilderment.

Adam rolled his eyes and Piere shot him a dirty look.

Nate's face remained a picture of contrition and she looked down at her fingers which were tangled together, "You forgive me?" Her eyes shot up to Sam, and he was even further taken aback at the sight of actual tears brimming.

"Uh…" Sam shot Dean a confused expression, and his older brother shrugged helplessly in response, "Sure. I… guess."

"You're still angry!" Nate's hands flew to her mouth and she turned away from the brothers.

Dean mouthed 'What the hell?' in Sam's direction and his brother shook his head in perplexment. The latter cleared his throat and moved in Nate's direction as though he was approaching a hive of bees.

"Nate?" Sam heard muffled sobbing coming from the girl and rubbed his neck awkwardly, "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean to make you so upset."

"_I'm_ the one who upset _you_!" The young girl continued her highly uncharacteristic display of emotions as she whirled on her heel, throwing herself at Sam and securing her arms around his broad torso, "I've been a total _bitch_ to you, Dad! But that's gonna change now, I promise!"

Dean gaped, jaw slackened by the about-face his surly niece had just pulled out of her hat. He opened his mouth and then shut it again, paying careful attention to Sam's reaction at having been called 'dad' by his obstinate daughter for the first time in history.

Fortunately, Dean's little brother wasn't stupid – sentimental, on the other hand…

Sam couldn't resist the vice-grip of a hug Nate was yanking him into. His arms lifted automatically, embracing his child with a face of utter loss.

'What just happened?' He silently mouthed to his brother.

'I have no idea.' Dean had nothing. If this was Nate's latest attempt at shifting the limelight off her questionable activities, the kid deserved an Emmy.

Adam thought so, apparently. He broke into a slow, obnoxious clap, ignoring the glare Pierce sent his way, "Bravo. Are you gonna thank your agent, though? Cuz last I checked they don't invite arch-demons to the Oscars!"

"Why don't you get off her back, huh?" Pierce, who seemed to have taken a strong liking to Nate despite the way she dragged him around like a toy, was on the defensive.

"Why don't you get out of my face?" Adam's tone rumbled like a thundercloud, eyes darkening in like fashion.

"Would you knock it off?" Dean snapped from his position beside Sam, "We've got bigger problems right now than you two duelling pistols at dawn!"

"He's right!" Nate sniffed, pulling away from Sam and wiping her nose on the sleeve of her sweater. Her red, puffy eyes and smudged mascara gave testament to the fact that she had either snorted cayenne pepper, or had actually been crying, "Crowley and Meg are gonna want that body. We have to hide it somewhere they'll never get their hands on it, before it's too late!"

"Wait, you said you didn't know anything about that body." Sam raised an eyebrow, and Nate lowered her long eyelashes in what, shockingly enough, appeared to be shame.

"I didn't. That's why I reached out to the demon network to see if I could dig anything up on it." She played with the ends of her hair and shifted her boot against the floor, "That's who the guy at the window was. He said all the information I needed was on the flash drive."

Sam spread his palms and felt a tidal wave of anger and frustration threatening to crash, "So why didn't you just _tell_ us that in the first place?"

"Because I…" Nate's face froze again for a moment, and Sam dipped his head with furrowed eyebrows to make eye contact.

"Nate?"

She jumped, startled back to reality. Sam raised both eyebrows and waited.

"Because you what?"

The young girl seemed to be warring internally, and for a moment a glimmer of defiance sparkled in her still-red eyes before Nate's shoulders slumped and her eyes fell once more.

"Because I wanted to use to info to blackmail Crowley into giving me the book."

"Wait, the book?" Dean took over, stepping past his brother as Sam's eyes became dangerous, "You were willing to hand over the only bargaining chip we might've had with Crowley for some two-bit book of spells?"

"It was for _Castiel_!" She insisted, and the velocity at which Nate was suddenly declaring her hoarded wealth of secrets was throwing everybody off balance, "He was trying to get the book off Crowley when we found him at the warehouse. That's why we argued!"

Dean's face matched his brothers in a grim, angry scowl. He pursed his lips and muttered a curse to his left before crossing his arms and looking back up at Nate. Her wide, frightened eyes suggested that she knew exactly how the Winchesters were going to digest this particular piece of news.

"Why would _Cas_ want the _book_?" Dean's tone suggested that he wasn't buying his niece's tale.

"I…I think he wants to vanquish Oplexicon."

"And why the hell would _you_ want to get it for him?"

Nate made a low noise of distress in her throat, "Because…" She clenched her teeth, eyes welling up with tears one more, "Because I need him to help me dig up Ruby."

Sam lost it. Dean grabbed his little brother by the shoulders just in time to stall his lunge.

He quickly regained his composure but not his calm, "How could you be so _stupid_?" He yelled at his daughter, and Nate burst into tears yet again.

"I'm sorry!"

"Yeah well if you _aren't_, you _will_ be!" Sam informed her matter-of-factly, pointing at the chair beside him, "Sit!"

Nate complied, tears rolling down her face even as she wiped them away. Sam grabbed Dean's arm and pulled his brother aside for a one-on-one.

"I think someone hexed her. It's the only explanation for the way she's acting."

"What, you mean like some kinda truth serum?" Dean wrinkled his forehead, and Sam gave his brother an impatient frown, "Why would anybody do that?"

"I don't know. Who cares? The point is that Pollyanna over there is not my daughter, and I want to get her back to normal!"

"Whoa, what's the hurry?" Dean glanced over his shoulder at the distraught, pale girl curled up in the chair behind them, "I mean, we're finally getting all the dark and dirty secrets here. Why do you want mean old Natey back so soon?"

Sam looked at his brother as though he were demented, "So I can _kill_ her!"

Dean saw his point, but they had larger issues at stake just then, and he cast Sam his most patient expression, "I'm just saying – maybe we should wait, is all."

Sam's bitch-face was in full swing, jaw locked and eyes glaring at his brother. Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Look, it's gonna take us a while to figure out who did this and how to reverse it. In the meantime, I need you to chill out. Nate's not going to wanna spill all the sordid details if she's too busy being scared of you!"

"She should be." Sam muttered, but the tension leaving his shoulders suggested he was following Dean's lead on this one, "Call Bobby. See if he knows anything."

Dean's eyes trained sharply on Sam, mouth in a hard line and ready to call bullshit at the slightest sign that Sam didn't have his temper under control.

"Dean, I'm fine." Sam sighed, hand scraping across his face in a weary gesture, "I promise."

Dean pulled out his cell phone and retreated, motioning to Adam and Pierce to follow him into the hall. He left the door to the hotel room slightly ajar, and the action didn't go unnoticed by Sam.

He forced another calming breath and turned, taking hold of the other chair in the room and sitting down in front of Nate.

The girl had stopped crying, at least. She had her knees pulled up to her chest and was gnawing at her lip, visibly distressed. Sam felt a twing of guilt at the knowledge that the real Nate was in there somewhere, probably fighting tooth and nail to regain control of her body before all her clandestine activities were brought to light.

It was a very, _very_ small twinge. Sam kicked it in the gut and slammed it back into the only corner of his brain that wasn't sick to death of Nate's lies and potentially lethal pet projects. He clasped his hands together and picked a question.

"You opened the cage, didn't you?"

Nate's face was tight with anguish, "Yes." She refused to look at him.

Sam nodded, "When? How?"

She clutched her knees more forcefully, knuckles blanching with the strain, "Right before I went to Texas. The book has a spell about a back door no one uses. I wrote it down before Crowley got ahold of it."

This was news. Sam broached his next question, "To rescue Adam or to look for Ruby?"

Her eyes finally met his, and Sam noticed that Nate's pupils were dilated.

"Both…I guess. I went to Wyoming cuz there was a demon who helped me with the spell. Didn't find Ruby so I hauled out Adam. I didn't really think it through."

"That's your theme song tonight, apparently." Sam couldn't stop the remark before it left his mouth. He saw Nate's eyes fall again and she brushed the hair dangling in her face behind her ear. Sam noticed the threadlike veins that had been present were gone.

He heard hushed voices in the hallway and was reminded that their window of time was very short. Sam straightened in his chair and studied the scuffed-up toes of his boots.

"What happened with Skandar?"

He had spoken the question so quietly it was almost a whisper – that was how much it frightened him to ask. But Sam needed to know, and he was certain his surly, tight-lipped daughter was _never_ going to volunteer that particular piece of information.

Nate's breathing quickened. Sam watched her feet hit the floor with a thud and her spine stand at attention. She gazed at him, every muscle in her face tensing with an obvious internal struggle.

"Please don't ask me that." Nate breathed the words, and a lone tear escaped the corner of her eyelid even as she did so.

Sam felt sick. A cold dread took him, confirming his worst fears even as he leant forward, eyes and mouth and tone hard and uncompromising.

"Tell me." He ordered.

Nate was shaking like a leaf, a steady flow of tears rolling down her cheeks despite her silence as she rocked back and forth.

Sam persisted, "Did he…" He closed his eyes as the next words left his mouth, "Did he rape you?"

A sob, deep and painful, racked through Nate as she buried her face in her palms.

"Answer me!" Sam couldn't bring himself to repeat the question.

"Yes." The whisper was small and choked. But it still sliced through Sam like butter.

Sam looked away, the hand resting on his knee bunching tightly into a fist as he felt hot, white anger begin to boil in his blood. Nate was weeping into her hands, her lean body heaving with silent sobs that obviously came from a deep, dark place.

"Did you kill him?" Sam spat out the words.

"Please, please just stop!" Nate was begging now, but Sam wasn't listening. He took hold of her wrists, pulling them away from her face and towards him, forcing eye contact.

He ground out the words, "Did. You. Kill. Him?"

Nate was a mess, her face smeared with tears and masacara and snot. She lowered her head and Sam's boots caught three more tears.

"No."

Sam let go of her wrists, slumping back in his chair. Nate huddled into herself once more, her face disappearing into her hands as her long hair fell like a glossy shield of protection over her fingers.

"So I talked to Bobby…" Dean ambled into the room and froze at the picture of despair that greeted him. Sam's back was to him but Dean knew his brother well enough to recognize the rigid shoulders and bowed head. Nate stood up and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door hard enough to send a shudder through the floorboards.

"Sam?" Dean approached his brother, worry flooding his tone as Sam showed no reaction, "Sammy?"

Sam swept both hands across his face, over his eyes and through his hair before he stood. Dean saw the casual cold front that Sam adopted when he was attempting to cope with something painful, and he moved closer.

"You okay? What happened?"

Sam pulled a nonchalant expression, eyes refusing to meet Dean's as he nodded at the phone, "Nothing. What'd Bobby say?"

Dean squinted at his little brother, "Sam."

"Don't." Sam informed him bluntly, hard eyes focusing only a moment on Dean. The look that passed between them was a declaration of war – a war that would have commenced had not Adam stepped in with a proverbial white flag.

"Guys," The sandy-haired young man shut the door behind him and gave his brothers a deadpan stare, "no pistols, remember? Did you find anything out from Bobby, Dean?"

"Yeah." Dean gave Sam one last scowl before he turned, fiddling with his cell phone, "Turns out Nate's under the influence of a good old truth spell. Apparently not only is the person in question obligated to be honest, but they also, and I quote, 'manifest acute morality'. Once it's cast, there's no reversing it – just gotta ride it out until it passes."

"Kinda like a cold." Adam pondered, "Only instead of sneezing, you spill your guts."

"Well how long does this spell usually last?" Sam queried in an agitated manner, directing a curt look at his younger brother in the process.

"Bobby said normally it wears off in 24 hours."

"Great." Sam sighed, fisting at his hair in frustration as he lumbered over to the bed and parked his giant frame there.

Adam's eyebrow Dean's direction,"Someone remind me why this is such a bad thing, again? I mean, a little acute morality never hurt anyone."

Dean scoffed, "Trust me,kid – when it comes to magic," he shook his head at the muffled sobs coming from the bathroom and the black aura coming off of Sam, "someone _always_ gets hurt."


	26. Chapter 26

_**New year, new chapter! Enjoy it and leave me some love. - Tyler**_

* * *

Night came and went somberly. Deciding against starting for Cicero due to the high levels of exhaustion (not to mention stress) of all parties, the group bunked down in the Shiloh Inn. Adam had magnanimously offered Sam his room (muttering some comment about broken TVs and deadbeat towns with no nightlife), opting instead to share a second room with Dean and Pierce. Nate had fallen asleep on the bathroom floor and hadn't so much as stirred when redeposited on Adam's bed – which, all angles considered, was probably a good thing.

Dean had spent the night in an easy chair across from Adam's bed, trying to ignore his handgun on the desk beside him and praying to God he wouldn't have to use it that night. He had worried for both of his brothers, for Nate and Castiel. He'd checked his phone and found a slew of missed calls from Lisa and a text message from Ben.

_Dad, please come home. I miss you. I'm sorry._

Dean decided to clear his head once 6 A.M rolled around and Adam hadn't so much as stirred, let alone attempted to rip anybody guts out. He strolled under the fresh, broken dawn with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his trusty jacket and paused to sit on the hood of the Impala. The streets surrounding the hotel were deserted, and Dean soaked up the white noise with a deep inhale.

"Finally. You're alone."

For once, Dean didn't jump. He merely closed his eyes and grit his jaw.

"Took you long enough yourself."

"I've been busy." Castiel moved to stand beside him, stark blue eyes trained on the empty pavement ahead, "Heaven is growing restless. They've asked me to eliminate Winters…" He locked eyes with Dean as the hunter cast him a heavy-lidded glare, "…personally."

"I'm guessing they're not exactly clued in on the little _conflict of interest_ you got going." Dean replied neutrally, and Castiel frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"You know damn well what I mean!" Dean's voice rose two octaves as he abandoned his calm veneer and turned to Castiel with anger blazing in his eyes, "You blacklisted my _niece_ – like she didn't have enough enemies, by the way – because you want that goddamn book so bad you'd make nice with _Crowley_ for it. Crowley!" He shoved off from the hood of the Impala in disgust before turning back to the angel, "I mean, come on, Cas! Haven't you learned enough from me and Sam? That kind of shit _never_ ends well, for _anyone_!"

Castiel leant forward, eyes stalwart and unapologetic, "Nate is _lying_ to you, Dean. What happened that night had nothing to do with a book. Your 'niece' is here to kill _Sam_. _That's_ why I denounced her."

"Yeah I'm gonna have to call bullshit on that one," Dean snapped, "Especially seein' as how Nate got bit by a truth serum last night and is under some kinda freaky obligation to _tell the truth_!"

Castiel tilted his head, jaw slackening slightly, "I don't understand."

"Someone _hexed_ her." Dean explained tersely, green eyes smouldering at the fact, "Kid spent most of last night spillin' all her dirty secrets, and so far, 'Must Kill Daddy' didn't make the list!"

Castiel digested this information with strained, farway eyes. "Crowley. He must have cast the spell in an attempt to bring Winters' true colors to the fore. It's…curious that she hasn't spoken of this yet. Perhaps it's too deeply buried."

"Or there's nothing to tell!" The oldest Winchester insisted.

"Well then why don't we _ask_ her?" Castiel leant into Dean's personal space, his face dangerously confident.

Dean was incredulous, "You just got voted Heavenly Hitman, and you think I'm gonna let you near my brother's little girl?"

"She is _no_ 'little girl', Dean!" Castiel advanced on his mortal friend, eyes wide and deadly serious, "Nate Winters is in league with one of the most powerful demons known to man. You of all people know that nothing good can come of it!"

"Yeah you're probably right." Dean acknowledged with a tone that was almost wistful, "But I'll tell you somethin', Cas; if everything that's broken just got thrown away, Sam and I wouldn't _be_ here right now…and come to think of it, neither would you."

Castiel's stare deadpanned, "That is irrelevant."

Dean shook his head bitterly, sad eyes trained on his friend, "What the hell happened to you, man?"

"I'm doing this to protect you and Sam." The angel responded softly, "I'm sorry if you can't understand that."

"Oh I understand." Dean nodded angrily, "I understand that cuz of your latest _power_ struggle, my niece is now a _target_! You know, she didn't _have_ to put her ass on the line to stop this planet from turning into a stinking Croat fest," His voice grew louder and his face darker with each word, "but she did it anyway, and you know what else? If it wasn't for her, it _would've_! So you can take your accusations, and your bruised ego, and you can shove them up your righteous ass!"

"How _dare_ you?" Castiel became angry, indignation bristling in his voice, "How _dare_ you accuse me of setting pride above our friendship, after everything we've been through?" He gripped Dean's arm forcefully, "You don't think I want to be wrong about this, about Sam's only child ripping time at the seams just so she could _kill_ him? This is _not_ about a power struggle. This is about protecting my _friends_, and if _you_ of all people can't understand that, then you can kiss my righteous ass!"

Dean would have laughed at how awkward those words sounded coming from Castiel – on any other day. Instead he eyed his friend silently as the angel released his grip.

"I would never kill your blood, unless you asked it of me." Castiel informed him grimly, "But I am warning you, Dean. I will be watching - _very_ closely. And at the _first_ sign that Nate is moving in on Sam, I will send her back through the time portal without a moment's hesitation, regardless of how it may jeopardize her treaty with Oplexicon. And yes, I can do it."

Dean started forward, "Cas…"

The angel vanished.

Dean closed his eyes and let out a long, pained exhale.

He needed some coffee.

* * *

Returning to the hotel with coffee and bagels for five, Dean was surprised to find Sam and Adam engaged in a quiet, tense conversation in the hall outside their rooms.

"What's going on?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Oh, nothing. Sam just wants to make sure he doesn't have to _kill_ me before breakfast." Adam's casual sarcasm was obviously his coping method for intense situations, "You know, seeing as it's only a matter of time before I go all 'I am Legend' on everybody."

"I just asked him how he was doing." Sam looked like shit, Dean noticed. His jaw sported a heavy shadow of stubble, his eyes had dark circles underneath red rims and he was wearing the same t-shirt and jeans as the previous night.

"I'm doing _great_." Adam, on the other hand, appeared in considerably better health, "Oh, except I'm getting this real craving for small intestine. You didn't happen to grab any while you were making the food run, did you?"

"No, but I bought a shovel and a shotgun and I'm pretty sure no one'd miss you." Dean was in no mood for his youngest brother's lip, shoving the tray of coffees into his hands and striding into his room, "Where's Pierce?"

"In the shower." Adam sullenly followed him and Sam into the room, placing the coffees on the table and selecting one he deemed to be the largest before flipping on the TV.

"And Nate?" Dean addressed Sam in a quieter tone as said brother leaned against the doorframe with an air of exhaustion.

"Sleeping, last I checked. She woke up screaming a lot." Sam scrubbed a hand over his face and accepted the coffee Dean handed him, "Kept trying to apologize for stuff. I can't wait till this truth hex shit is over."

"You and her both, I bet." Dean didn't want to hover. He knew how much Sam hated to be coddled. But he was worried and he had good cause. Not only was his brother mentally and physically exhausted, but Dean was sure that all of Pollyanna Nate's confession sessions, not to mention the dread of whatever else might still come out, were draining Sam emotionally as well.

"You wanna get some shuteye?" Dean made the suggestion as casually as possible, "I can keep tabs on the kid for a bit, maybe get her to eat something."

"No," Sam instantly refuted, taking a giant gulp of his coffee and wincing at its bitter tang, "I'm good. I don't want Nate…_fake_ Nate…feeling any worse than she already does."

A sudden crash from the adjoining room had both brothers bursting through the threshold in a matter of seconds. Dean had drawn his gun before he was even fully conscious of doing so, following Sam into the hotel room where the twisted wreck of the TV still rested in the corner.

"Nate?" Sam called out, sounding frazzled and worried and very unlike himself in general.

"Sorry!" The object of his concern poked her head around the corner of the wall.

Dean and Sam were equally taken aback by the sight that greeted them. Nate's normally messy tresses were pulled back in a tasteful half-ponytail that revealed for the first time ever the entirety of her face – a face that was, also for the first time ever, make-up free. This (combined with a salmon-colored turtleneck which was about as un-Nate-like attire as one could ever imagine) made the girl, who normally hid behind her chiselled features, smoky eyes and subtly-provocative clothing, look all of 15 years old.

"Sorry!" Nate repeated, oblivious to the stares of the brothers, "I just stepped out to get some food and on my way back, I tripped over some of the TV wiring." She misinterpreted their silence and broke into a worried expression, "I'm sorry if I scared you guys! God, I'm so freaking clumsy…"

"It's fine!" Sam said in what he had obviously intended to be a reassuring tone, but the snap to it suggested he was running low on just about everything right then.

"What's all this?" Dean pocketed his gun and waved a finger at a number of foil-wrapped cartons on the table which Nate had begun unwrapping, "You uh rob the farmer's market or something?" He noticed what looked like some kind of zucchini salad and fought disbelief.

"You told me to eat more vegetables." Nate spoke quietly as she began cutting up a carrot with her father's hunting knife, "I figured I had some catching up to do if I want to knock off everything on my list."

"Your _list_?" Dean turned to his brother in complete bewilderement before following Sam's gaze to a crumpled, tattered piece of paper laid out on the table beside Nate's impromptu salad bar.

"Dad gave me a list of foods I'm supposed to eat to help my liver problem." Nate was still chopping as she spoke, eyebrows knit in concentration, "And, since the majority of them were vegetables, and since I _hate_ vegetables, I decided to just eat them in one go."

Another moment of silence passed, lingering long enough for the young girl to look up from her food prep with wide, worried eyes, "Are you guys mad? Because I just realized, I totally forgot to ask permission before I went, but I couldn't find anyone and it was only the shop on the curb, which of course is no excuse, it's only…"

The frantic dialogue continued, but Sam had zoned out. He turned to Dean with both hands up in cold resignation.

"I can't. I can't stand seeing her like this. It's…" He shook his head with closed eyes, and Dean silently finished his brother's sentence with the words that no Winchester would ever stoop to say.

_It's upsetting me._

"…and then the guy at the cash register was like 'we don't have any artichokes here' and I said that was impossible because they had passion fruit," Nate was still rambling nervously as she returned to her vegetables, "and how can you have passion fruit and not have artichokes? It's crazy…"

Dean tried to pacify him, "Sammy, she's acting like a normal _kid_…"

"Well she is _not_ a normal kid!" Sam whisper-yelled, leaning in on Dean with anger in his eyes, "I hate this. I wanted her to tell me things when she was _ready_, to call me _Dad_ when she was _ready_!"

Sam was breathing heavily and Dean quickly snagged his arm, leading him out into the hallway and shutting the door behind them.

"Sammy, you need to get some sleep." It was not a suggestion.

"Yeah well I _can't_, Dean!" Sam barked furiously, "I just spent the last 12 hours holding Nate while she bawled her eyes out and told me _everything_ that happened to her while she lived with _Geri_! You think the shit she said _before_ was nasty? Because she was holding _back_!"

_Shit_. Dean grew sober at the revelation, wishing desperately that he knew what to tell his brother. The anguish in Sam's tired eyes was making him sick.

Sam ran his hands through his knotted hair and left them there with a sigh, "I should've been there for her. I can't _believe_ I let this happen."

"You didn't _let_ it happen, Sam. You didn't _know_!"

"That's not _enough_!" Sam yelled suddenly and his hands fell, balling into fists by his side as his chest broadened with indignation, "Nate was right. I _should've_ known this was happening. I was having _visions_, Dean – I should've _seen_ it!"

"That's ridiculous and you know it." Dean kept his tone low in an effort to bring Sam's back to normal, but his green eyes blazed with anger, "Those visions were tied to Yellow Eyes. That's the only reason you had'em, and when we killed him, the visions stopped."

Sam slumped against the wall, digging his thumbs into his belt loops and staring dejectedly at the paisley carpet at his feet.

"She told me…" He whispered, and Dean moved closer and ducked his head slighty to level with his brother, "….she told me that once she turned 12, Geri would just dump her in the ghettos and tell her to 'come back with the rent, or don't come back at all'." Sam looked up at Dean, and there were tears in his eyes, "How could someone do that to their own child?"

Dean leant against the wall, his shoulder brushing Sam's as his hands made their way to his own pockets, "I dunno, man. I guess demons had to come from _somewhere_." He imagined Ben roaming cold, dangerous streets with that threat hanging over his head. It burned him just to _think_ about it.

"I can't do it, Dean." Sam continued despondently, "I thought I wanted to hear all Nate's secrets, but I don't. I'm just not strong enough."

This was a speech Dean knew how to give, "Well Sam, I hate to break it to you, but that's called being a _parent_. Sometimes…most of the time, in fact…you gotta be the strong one, even if you gotta fake it."

Sam looked down once more, long hair tucked behind his ears and eyes hiding under his bangs as he twisted his watch around his wrist, "And if I can't?"

"We'll get through it together," Dean nudged his brother, "Like we always do."

Sam said nothing and his eyes remained glued to the floor, but Dean saw his shoulders slacken in acceptance.

"Now go on." Dean pushed off from the wall, "Why don't you get some sleep, huh? I think I can handle the rugrats for a couple hours."

"Yeah. Okay." Sam was evidently beyond exhausted from his night vigil, and although he still looked anxious, the pace at which he headed for Dean's room suggested a glimmer of relief.

Dean made it to the doorway just in time to see Sam collapse on the nearest bed, face-down. He was already out like a light as Dean ushered Adam and Pierce (who barely had time to grab a fresh change of clothes from the shower) back into the hallway.

Dean closed the door as quietly as possible and turned to address the pair.

"You wake him up, you're _dead_."

"Fine. But in the meantime, maybe we should take a look at that USB little Natey got and find out exactly what the deal with this _body_ is before the whole parking lot starts to notice the _smell_." Adam was already heading towards Sam's room.

"Great, and while we're at it, she can check you for Croatoan." Dean replied in an equally breezy manner as he caught up to his little brother, "Seeing as 'little Natey's' got the most experience in that particular area. You don't mind, do you?"

"Whatever." Adam shrugged, but his discomfort was evident as they paused outside the door, "Guess at the day I owe her one, you know? If she didn't do what she did, I'd still be…there." He fiddled with the folds of his shirt and stared at the ground for a moment, "She didn't say _why_ she yanked me out, did she?"

"I don't think Nate really _knows_ why she does things half the time." Dean turned the door handle, "I just know I'm damn glad she did." He caught Adam's eyes as he uttered the last sentence, transferring the full weight of meaning his words carried.

Adam bit his lip and nodded, "Me too."

Dean opened the door, stepping across the threshold and muttering something to Adam about hoping he liked rabbit food. They both froze at the sight of said food scattered across the floor and Nate's slender body convulsing unnaturally against the carpet.

"Nate!" Dean ran to her side, dropping to one knee and moving to grab the girl, only to be knocked to one side as Nate arched clear off the ground with a scream.

"Jesus!" Adam barked in disbelief as Dean leapt to his feet and Nate did full figure of eight, smashing against the walls and bouncing off the closet three feet off the ground. Pierce slammed the door behind them, clutching his close-cropped hair helplessly.

As soon as she got within grabbing distance, Adam dive-tackled his niece, using his considerable weight advantage to pin her underneath him on the floor.

"Dean, what the hell is this?" He called out to his brother even as he wrestled with Nate's gyrating frame.

Dean said nothing, falling to his knees beside them and unbuckling his belt with fast, efficient hands. His face was set in a determined expression as he tugged Nate's head up and shoved the strap of leather between her teeth.

"Don't let go of her, Adam!" Dean ordered over the noises of agony Nate was making.

Adam complied, renewing his vicegrip as Pierce moved to restrain Nate's flailing legs. The ugly scene lasted another agonizing pair of minutes before it was over. All three men slumped, panting from the ordeal even as they turned their attentions to the limp girl lying prostrate on the carpet.

Dean brushed at the sweaty locks that had come loose from their elastic, eyes knit in that same worried look he had graced Adam with the night before…and something even darker.

"What the hell was that?" Adam repeated, resting his palms against the floor behind him as he sat back in complete shock.

Nate moaned, opening red-rimmed eyes to gaze at the green ones above her.

"Dean," She murmured, "I'm…I'm sorry."

Dean said nothing, made no move to reassure her as he pointedly removed his hands from Nate's shoulders and clenched them tightly beside his knees.

The gesture didn't go unnoticed and Nate closed her eyes, a tear rolling down her cheek as she did so.

"Dean," Adam repeated, growing more agigated by the minute, "What?"

Again, Dean refused to answer. He stood up, replaced his belt in silence and stood over his niece for a fleeting moment. The hunter seemed to be struggling for words, opening and closing his mouth before he rubbed a hand across it and turned away.

"How long?" The gravely tone to his voice suggested Dean was close to tears himself, and Pierce gave Adam a truly petrified expression.

Nate seemed to know exactly what her uncle meant by that. She swallowed and rose to her elbows, dry lips barely moving as she spoke.

"Since before I got here."

"What?" Adam snapped, rising to his feet and turning to Dean, "What the hell is she talking about?"

Dean had shut down after Nate's last admission, and he flashed Adam his back as he abruptly left the room, slamming the door in his wake.

Adam threw up his hands in frustration before he returned to Nate, squatting in front of her even as Pierce helped the girl into a sitting position.

"What _is_ this?" Adam demanded, and she shook her head slowly and scraped a shaky hand across her nose.

"You don't want to know, Adam."

That particular statement couldn't have been further from the truth. The sandy-haired young man let out a low growl.

"Tell me."

"Adam…" Pierce began angrily, but Nate cut him off with a weak wave of her hand.

"Last year, my cirhossis got so bad, I couldn't walk. I could barely move. I had no way of defending myself and…that's the kind of thing that gets you killed back where I'm from." She shuddered with an aftershock, eyes trained on the ground as she brought one jean-clad knee up to her chest, "This old lady who I used to throw bread at sometimes took pity on me…brought me stuff and kept the Croats off my lawn. I remember one night I was just vomiting and vomiting blood and I couldn't stop. Thought I was gonna die, and…" Nate let out a soft huff, "truth be told, I probably was. Next thing I knew, the old hag was shoving something warm down my throat. I didn't know what it was at the time; all I knew was the puking stopped."

Adam felt a cold dread creep across his skin and raise goosebumps in its wake. All at once, he knew where this little anecdote was going.

_Oh no…_

Nate was shivering steadily now, sweat beading on a temple so pale it was almost grey.

"I…by the time I caught on to what that lady fed me for three solid days to keep me alive, it was too late. I was…I'm _still_…hooked on demon blood. I've been drinking it every couple days to keep my strength up, but the last time I had some was Boulder."

Pierce gave Adam a guarded expression over the top of Nate's head. The two eased a sweaty, pale Nate onto her bed and went to take five in the corner.

Pierce dipped his head to meet Adam's eyes, "We can't tell Sam about this." He whispered, "If he finds out, he'll _flip_."

"Yeah that's if Dean hasn't told him already." For once, Adam was in agreement with the student, stuffing his hands into his pockets forcefully and sighing, "I'd better go find him before he does something stupid. Think you handle the junkie?"

"Why are you always such an asshole to her?" Pierce snapped, "You do realize if it wasn't for Nate, you wouldn't _be_ here right now? How about playing _nice_ for once, okay?"

"Okay, _okay_!" Adam threw up his hands, eyebrows raising as he did so, "_Man_, you got it bad. Try a cold shower or something."

"I could try _drowning_ you in one." Pierce muttered, glancing over his shoulder at a groan from Nate as she thrashed restelessly on the bed.

"Whatever." Adam wore the makings of a smirk as he ran his palm across the tips of his messy hair, "Just don't come crying to me when Sam makes mincemeat outta you for ogling his broken little princess."

Pierce crashed into the youngest Winchester, shoving him up against the wall with both hands on his collar. Adam laughed in his face.

"You really wanna do this? Cuz you have no idea how many different shades of shit I can knock out of you, Honor Roll."

"I don't care." Pierce kept up his grip on the collar of Adam's shirt and glared into his face, "Meg's henchman rode me for six months; you think I'm scared of you?"

"Guys!" Nate's weak call had them both turning towards her, Adam yanking Pierce's hands off him as they did so.

Nate was sitting on the edge of the bed, head between her knees and shaking hands cupping the top of her head.

"I…I need it." The words came out in a shameful whisper, and she seized handfuls of her matted hair desperately.

Adam's face contorted in anger, "Are you freaking kidding me? Forget it!"

"It's not…" Nate laboriously raised her head, and both men noted a tendril of blood mucuous staining her chin as she did so, "It's not for _kicks_, Adam. I'm _dying_…I'll _die_ without it!"

If Dean had been there to hear his brother's own words echoed - _"I'm not drinking demon blood for kicks, Dean!"- _his pain would have tripled. But he wasn't there. Adam was there. And Adam had mastered his own personal coping method for _pain_ a long time ago.

"Watch her." He barked to Pierce, heading for the door determinedly. The med student snagged his arm.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"To get some handcuffs!" Adam responded matter-of-factly, wrenching his arm free before he left the room, door clicking shut somberly behind him.

Pierce's jaw dropped in disbelief, and he shook his head with eyes closed tightly against the sight of Nate's shuddering body as she abruptly hurled once more over the side of the bed.

"Hey!" Pierce ran to her side, kneeling beside her and holding back her hair as she retched, "It's okay." He had studied liver cirhossis briefly and had a dreadful theory that Nate's had developed some life-threatening complications. Once she had finished, Pierce handed her a tissue and eased her onto her back.

Nate wiped her face shakily, "Sorry."

"Don't apologize." Pierce sat beside her on the bed, "I…I need to check something, and I need you to trust me."

Nate's skin was beginning to appear jaundiced and her eyes fluttered weakly, but she nodded.

"I…I trust you."

Pierce gingerly lifted up the hem of Nate's sweater, revealing a flat, white stomach riddled with scars of different shapes and sizes. Pierce wasn't looking at the scars. He was looking at the angry blue lines bulging unnaturally against her skin.

"Oh shit." Pierce breathed, dropping the sweater with trembling hands he then pressed against his forehead. Nate's cirhossis had developed a complication alright – variceal bleeding. And judging by the looks of it, it had been going on for far too long.

He had to help her. He had no choice.


End file.
